The Rare Old Mountain Dew [Italian translation]

Let grasses grow and waters flow

In a free and easy way

But give me enough of the rare old stuff

That's made near Galway Bay

And policemen all from Donegal,

Sligo and Leitrim too

We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip

Of the real old mountain dew.

There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill

Where the smoke curls up to the sky

By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell

That there's poteen boys close by.

For it fills the air with a perfume rare

And betwixt both me and you

As home we roll, we can drink a bowl

Or a bucketful of mountain dew.

Now learned men as use the pen

Have writ' the praises high

Of the rare poteen from Ireland green

Distilled from wheat and rye

Away with your pills, it'll cure all ills

Be ye pagan, Christian, or Jew

So take off your coat and grease your throat

With a bucket of the mountain dew.