Bucket o’ the Mountain Dew

A song about the Irish form of “White Lightning” called poitín. It’s sung and played by piper Sean Folsom. According to this video:

Sean does not imbibe any alcohol, most of the time, as he is a temperate, but not completely, “Tee-Total” Bagpiper. Usually, Sean pours small amounts of any 80 proof alcohol into the bags and/ or bellows of his pipes on very hot, dry (non-humid) days to keep the reeds from losing their inherent moisture.

Below is one version of the lyrics which don’t match Sean’s completely.  This song is also known in the U.S. with some additional stanzas and goes under the various names of “Rare Old Mountain Dew,” “Mountain Dew,” and others.

Bucket o’ the Mountain Dew

1. 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.

2. 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.

Continue reading

Advertisements

An Droimeann Donn Dílis

Photo courtesy krankykids.com

The great uilleann piper Séamus Ennis performs An Droimeann Donn Dílis.  His familiarity with the sean-nós tradition was apparent in his singing and especially in his magnificent piping. In this clip, we are fortunate enough to hear both. This song tells the said tale of a farmer brought low by taxation who is forced to part with his precious Droimeann cow.

A Dhroimeann Donn Dílis

A dhroimeann donn dílis, a shíoda na mbó,
cá ngabhann tú san oíche is cá mbíonn tú sa ló?
Bíonn mise ar na coillte is mo bhuachaill i m’ chomhair
agus d’fhág sé siúd mise ag sileadh na ndeor.

Níl fearann, níl tíos agam, níl fíonta ná ceol,
níl flatha i m’ choimhdeacht, níl saoithe ná sló
ach ag síoról an uisce go minic sa ló
agus beathuisce agus fíon ag mo naimhde ar bord.

Dá bhfaighinnse cead aighnis, nó radharc ar an gcoróin
Sasanaigh a leidhbfinn mar a leidhbfinn seanabhróg
tré chnocaibh is tré ailtibh, is tré ghleanta dubha ceo
agus siú mar a shaorfainn mo dhroimeann donn óg.

Continue reading