Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived on Walkin Street,

A gentleman Irish mighty odd

well, he had a brogue both rich and sweet,

An' to rise in the world he carried a hod

Well, he had a bit of a timmlin' way

with a love for the liquor poor Tim was born

And to send him on his way each day,

he'd a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the dah do now dance with your partner

whirl the floor your trotters shake

Isn't it the truth I tell you,

lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

One morning Tim felt rather full,

his ole' head felt heavy which made him shake

well, he fell off the ladder and he broke his skull,

then they carried him home his corpse to wake

oh, they wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet,

and they laid him out upon the bed

with a gallon of whiskey at his feet

and a bucket of porter at his head

Well, his friends assembled at the wake,

and missus Finnegan called for lunch

well, first she brought out tea and cake,

then pipes and tobacco and brandy punch

Then the widow Malone began to cry,

"Such a nice, clean corpse, have you ever seen,

Saying Tim my boy why did you die?",

well, "Hold your gob." says Mother McGee

Then Maggie O'Conner took up the job,

And Biddy says "you're wrong, for sure"

well, Biddy fixed her with a belt in the gob

and sent her sprawling on the floor

then a civil war did soon engage,

it was woman to woman and man to man

Shillelagh law was all the rage

and a row and a ruction soon began

Then Mickey Maloney he ducked his head

when a bottle of whiskey flew at him

It ducked, and landed on the bed,

well, whiskey scattering over Tim

Be dad it revives him see how he rises

Tim Finnegans rising in the bed

Sayin whirl whiskey around like place

Thanum an Dhul!, do ye think I was dead?"