Hills of Connemara

Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
 Keep your eyes well-peeled today
 The excise men, they're on their way
 Searching for the mountain tay
 In the Hills of Connemara.
 Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
 The mountain breezes as they blow
 Echo down to plains below
 The big tall men are on the go
 In the Hills of Connemara.
 Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
 Swing to the left now swing to the right—
 The excise men, they can dance all night
 Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight
 In the Hills of Connemara.
 Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
 A gallon for the butcher and big Nick Klein
 A bottle for the poor old Father Stein
 To keep him off that altar wine
 In the Hills of Connemara.
 Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
 Stand your ground, for it's too late
 The excise men, they're at the gate
 Glory be to Paddy for they're drinking it straight
 In the Hills of Connemara! Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
 The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
 Run like the devil from the excise man
 Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.