Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran
Running like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
Keep your eyes well peeled today
The excise man is on his way
Searching for the mountain tay
In the hills of Connemara
Swing to the left and swing to the right
The excise man will dance all night
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight
In the hills of Connemara
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for Tom
A bottle for poor old father John
To help the poor old man along
In the hills of Connemara
Stand your ground, it's too late
The excise men are at the gate
Glory be to God, he's drinking it nate
In the hills of Connemara