This is from the live version,
   Nice and easy chords, grand fun to play
   and gets anyone listening to you wondering
   what the feck a skideri-diddle-dum is, as they sing along.
                     As always any mistakes are mine
                                                      - flatwound -

                     THE RARE OLD MOUNTAIN DEW

             C                      F                  C             G
Where the grasses grow,   And the waters flow,   In a free and easy way
      C                       F                        C          G     C
But give me enough,   Of the rare ol' stuff,   That's made near Galway Bay
        C                   C           C               Am
Come goughers all,   From Donegal,    Sligo and Leitrim too
           C                           F                  C          G     C 
And we'll give 'em the slip,And we'll take a sip, Of the rare ol mountain dew

       C                    F                     C                     G
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-ey-day
       C                    F                     C            G         C
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-dum-day

           C                         C
There's a neat little still At the foot of the hill
            C                    F
Where the smoke curls up to the sky
         C                             F
By the whiff and the smell, You can plainly tell
               C      G       C
That there's poteen brewin' nearby
         C                      C                C                  F
For it fills the air, With a perfume rare, And betwixt both me and you
          C                  F                   C              G      C
And it's home we go, With a pint or bowl, Or a bucket full a mountain dew

       C                    F                     C                     G
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-ey-day
       C                    F                     C            G         C
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-dum-day

        C               C                    C                   F
Now learned men,   Who use the pen,   Have written your praises high
        C                   F                   C          G        C
Of the rare poteen, From Ireland green, That's made from wheat and rye
      C                         C                      C                  F
So, Away with yer pills, It'll cure all ills, Be ya, Pagan, Christian or Jew
         C                  F                          C            G       C
So take off yer coat, And grease yer throat, With a bucketfull of mountain dew

       C                    F                     C                     G
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-ey-day
       C                    F                     C            G         C
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-dum-day

       C                    F                     C                     G
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-ey-day
       C                    F                     C            G         C
  Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-diddle-dum, Skideri-um-a-di, a-diddle-dum-day