| Tim Finnegan lived on Walker Street | 
| And a gentle, Irishman, mighty odd; | 
| He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet | 
| And to rise in the world he carried a hod | 
| You see he’d a sort o' the tipplin' way | 
| With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born | 
| And to help him on with his work each day | 
| He’d a «drop of the cray-thur» every morn | 
| Whack fol the die do, dance to your partner | 
| Welt the floor, your trotters shake; | 
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you | 
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s wake! | 
| 2. One mornin' Tim was rather full | 
| His head felt heavy which made him shake; | 
| He fell from the ladder and broke his skull | 
| And they carried him home his corpse to wake | 
| They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet | 
| And laid him out upon the bed | 
| With a gallon of whiskey at his feet | 
| And a barrel of porter at his head | 
| 3. His friends assembled at the wake | 
| And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch | 
| First they brought in tea and cake | 
| Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch | 
| Biddy O’Brien began to cry | 
| «Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see? | 
| «Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?» | 
| «Arragh, hold your gob» said Paddy McGee! | 
| 4. Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job | 
| «O Biddy,» says she, «You're wrong, I’m sure» | 
| Biddy gave her a belt in the gob | 
| And left her sprawlin' on the floor | 
| And then the war did soon engage | 
| 'Twas woman to woman and man to man | 
| Shillelagh law was all the rage | 
| And the row and eruption soon began | 
| 5. Then Mickey Maloney raised his head | 
| When a noggin of whiskey flew at him | 
| It missed, and fallin' on the bed | 
| The liquor scattered over Tim! | 
| Tim revives! | 
| See how he raises! | 
| Timothy rising from the bed | 
| Says,"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes | 
| Thanum o’n Dhoul! | 
| Did you think I’m dead?" |