Dooley was a good old man
He lived below the mill
Dooley had two daughters and a forty gallon still
One gal watched the boiler the other watched the spout
Mama corked the bottles when old Dooley fetched them out

Dooley, slipping up the holler
Dooley, trying to make a dollar
Dooley, give me a swaller and I’ll pay you back some day

The revenuers came for him a slipping through the woods
Dooley kept behind them all and never lost his goods
Dooley was a trader when into town he’d come
Sugar by the bushel and molasses by the ton

I remember very well the day old Dooley died
The women folk looked sorry and the men stood ‘round and cried
Now Dooley’s on the mountain he lies there all alone
They put a jug beside him and a barrel for a stone