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.