The Hills of Connemara | Traditional Irish Drinking Song (Poitín Ballad)

The Hills of Connemara — A Poitín Ballad from Ireland’s Wild West

The Hills of Connemara is one of Ireland’s liveliest traditional songs — a spirited celebration of the old art of poitín-making, the illicit distillation of homemade whiskey that once sustained families across the rugged West.
Set among the misty mountains and bogs of Connemara, County Galway, the song tells of the quick-witted moonshiners who outsmarted the taxmen and kept Ireland’s spirit — in every sense — alive.

The verses follow the frantic energy of a poitín raid:
“Keep your eyes well peeled today,
The excise men are on their way…”
With humor and defiance, the singer describes hiding barrels in streams, rolling casks down hills, and warning the neighbors as the lawmen approach.
It’s half chase-song, half celebration — a musical wink to a centuries-old cat-and-mouse game between the people and authority.

Beneath the laughter lies something deeper: a reflection of Irish resilience and independence.
For many poor farmers in the 18th and 19th centuries, distilling poitín wasn’t rebellion for its own sake — it was survival.
The government taxed grain and alcohol heavily, while rural families used their own skill and courage to earn a few coins from the hills.
The Hills of Connemara immortalises those men and women who refused to yield to hardship or control.

Today, the song remains a staple in pubs and sessions worldwide — rowdy, joyful, and impossible not to sing along to.
Each chorus reminds us of that untamed western spirit, where laughter rings louder than law, and the hills of Connemara still echo with the music of freedom — and perhaps the faint scent of poitín on the wind.





LYRICS

Fol-da-di-da, fol-da-di-da, diddle-dee-di-da-di
Diddle-dee-die, diddle-dee-die, fol-da-di-da-di-da
Fol-da-di-da, fol-da-di-da, diddle-dee-di-da-di
Diddle-dee-die, diddle-dee-die, fol-da-di-da-di-da
[Chorus]
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley ’n’ bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
[Verse 1]
Keep your eyes well peeled today
The excise men are on their way
Searching for the mountain tay
In the hills of Con-ne-mara
[Chorus]
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley ’n’ bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
[Verse 2]
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 Con-ne-mara
[Chorus]
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley ’n’ bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
[Verse 3]
Stand your ground, it’s too late to run
The excise men are having fun
They think they’ve smugglers on the run
In the hills of Con-ne-mara
[Chorus]
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley ’n’ bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
[Verse 4]
Swing to the left and swing to the right
Dodge the excise men by day or night

They’ll go to hell if they think they’re right
In the hills of Con-ne-mara
[Chorus]
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley ’n’ bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
[outro]
Fol-da-di-da, fol-da-di-da, diddle-dee-di-da-di
Diddle-dee-die, diddle-dee-die, fol-da-di-da-di-da
Fol-da-di-da, fol-da-di-da, diddle-dee-di-da-di
Diddle-dee-die, diddle-dee-die, fol-da-di-da-di-da

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