Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street
A gentle Irishman mighty odd;
Had a beautiful brogue both rich and sweet
To rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of a tipplin' way
With a love for the liquor Tim was born
To help him on with his w
ork each day
Had a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
One mornin' Tim felt rather full
His head was heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
And they carried him hom his corpse to wake.
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed;
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his h
His friends assempled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch.
First she brought in tay and cake;
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
"O Tim, mavaourneen,
why did you die?"
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee!
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job
"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
Then the war did soon enga
'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began.
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and falling on the bed
The liqor scattered over Tim!
The corpse revives! See how he rises!
Timothy rising from the bed,
Sayin', "Whirl your whiskey around like blazes
Thanum an Dhul! Do you thunk I'm dead?"