My paternal grandmother was of Irish descent, harking back to County Cork. Although my grandfather – Pappy to my generation – was born in Salem, he was of English descent, I think. However, he seemed to associate with the Irish culture, and managed a pretty good ‘Skiddle-ee-t-n-dee’, which I later heard referred to as ‘mouth music’. I first heard this on a Clancy Brothers album and later learned it from the Clancy Brothers songbook. When I was in a bush band – these later morphed into Anglo-Celtic bands – I got to play this on a 5-string banjo.

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.

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.

Chorus

Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh

Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh

At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still

Where the smoke curls up to the sky.

By the smoke and the smelly you can plainly tell

There's poteen brewing near by.

It fills the air with odour rare

And betwixt both me and you,

When home you stroll you can take a bowl

Or a bucket of the mountain dew.

Chorus

Now, learned men who use a pen

Have wrote your praises high,

That sweet poteen from Ireland green

Distilled from wheat and rye.

Throw away your pills, it'll cure all ills

Of Pagan, Christian or Jew,

Take off your coat and breeze your throat

In the real old mountain dew.

Chorus