Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, 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 tall, tall men are on on their way,
Searching for the mountain tay/ In the Hills of Connemara.

Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, 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,/ hear their Echo in the glen below,
The big tall men are on the go,/ In the Hills of Connemara.

Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, 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 a quart for Tom,/ A bottle for the poor old Father John,
To help his prayers and hymns along,/ In the Hills of Connemara.

Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran.
Run like the devil from the excise man,
Keep the smoke from rising Barney.

Stand your ground, boys it’s too late,/ The excise men, are at the gate
Glory be to God for they’re drinking it neat/In the Hills of Connemara.

Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, 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 then swing to the right, /The Excise men will dance all night,
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight,/in the hills of Connemara.

Gather up the pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran.
Run like the devil from the excise man,
Keep the smoke from rising Barney.