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The Real Old Mountain Dew

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joe

There must be a gazillion songs about moonshine, mountain dew, whiskey or whatever foks want to call it but they all have the same essential meaning. The drinkers love the whiskey


The Real Old Mountain Dew

      D                         G
Ah didlee ay dum ah diddlee ay dum
      D                            A7
Ah doo ray diddlee ai ay
      D                          G
Ah didlee ay dum ah diddlee ay dum
     D            A7             D
Ah doo ray diddlee ai ay

      D                            G
Let grasses grow and waters flow
        D                    A7
In a free and easy way
        D                                   G
Just give me enough of that fine old stuff
           D                A7        D
That's made near Galway Bay
       D                        
The police men from old Donegal
                          Bm7 A7
Sligo and Lietrin too
         D                                          G
We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip
             D          A7            D
Of that real old Mountain Dew   CHORUS

         D                                     G
At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still
                  D                                 A7
Where the smoke curls up to the sky
            D                                            G
By the smoke and the smell you can plainly tell
             D       A7                D
There's poitin brewin near by
    D
It fills the air with a perfume rare
                                        Bm7 A7
But betwixt both me and you
          D                                G
When home we go you can take a bowl
        D                    A7           D
Or a bucket of the Mountain Dew    CHORUS

        D                           G
Now learned men who use a pen
         D                             A7
Have wrote your praises high
         D                          G
That sweet poitin from Ireland green
     D                A7             D
is stilled from wheat and rye
       D                            
Put away your pills, it'll cure all ills
                                         Bm7   A7
Be ye Christian, pagan or Jew
        D                          G
Take off your coat and grease your throat
           D                    A7            D
With a bucket of the Mountain Dew    CHORUS