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The Poteen Man

from The Traveler by Trip McCool

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lyrics

I brew just enough for friends and me kin
But the church and the law they tell me it's a sin
I'm going away, farewell Ireland
I'll not lick the boots of the Black and the Tan

New York, New York Ameri-kay
I'll loose my mind if I stay here a day
Nicked an old horse and headed due South
To find a wench and a good Public House

I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
From County Wicklow to the Carolina sand
I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
Making my way in a new found land

Set up a trade in East Caroline
To cultivate the Celtic Moonshine
When two bloody rozzers they bashed in me still
I grabbed up me pipes and I run for the hills

Blue mountains above Green valleys below
For sure it's the mirror of my Wick-a-low
Hollers and Rivers and caves for to hide
They'll never catch me on this mountainside

I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
From County Wicklow to the Carolina sand
I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
Making my way in a new found land

Now isn't it grand, oh isn't it great
My car she's the envy of this Bloody State
The coppers they call her the Devils Machine
She runs on a mixture of gas and Poteen

Oh Moonshine dear Moonshine oh how I love thee
Ya killed me ol' father but ah now try me
So bless all Moonshiners and bless all Moonshine
Their breath smells as sweet as the due on the vine

I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
From County Wicklow to the Carolina sand
I'm the Poteen Man, I'm the Poteen Man
Making my way in a new found land

credits

from The Traveler, released March 20, 2012

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Trip McCool Oak Island, North Carolina

I put on the guitar and sing as if my ancestors were listening; and I truly believe they are so I better not disappoint them. Trip is the part of my soul that never forgot the sacrifices they made. My people rose up from the Irish mud to make a better life for me. I write songs for them, for my people, the immigrants, the poor, the salt of the earth. It's all true, even the lies. ... more

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