Let grasses grow, and waters flow, in a free and easy way,
But give me enough of the fine old stuff that's made near Galway Bay
Oh peelers all, from Donegal, Galway and Etrim too,
We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip of the rare old mountain dew
At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still, where the smoke curles up to the sky,
By the smoke and the smell you can plainly tell that there's whisky brewing nearby