| Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentle Irishman mighty odd
|
| He had a brogue both rich and sweet, an' to rise in the world he carried a hod
|
| You see he’d a sort of a tipplers way but the love for the liquor poor Tim was
|
| born
|
| To help him on his way each day, he’d a drop of the craythur every morn
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake
|
| One morning Tim got rather full, his head felt heavy which made him shake
|
| Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and they carried him home his corpse
|
| to wake
|
| Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out upon the bed
|
| A bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake
|
| His friends assembled 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,
|
| Tim avourneen, why did you die?», «Will ye hould your gob?"said Paddy McGee
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake
|
| Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job, «Biddy"says she «you're wrong, I’m sure»
|
| Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and left her sprawling on the floor
|
| Then the war did soon engage, t’was woman to woman and man to man
|
| Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake
|
| Mickey Maloney ducked his head when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
|
| It missed, and falling on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim
|
| Bedad he revives, see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
|
| Saying «Whittle your whiskey around like blazes, t’underin' Jaysus,
|
| do ye think I’m dead?»
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake
|
| Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
|
| Wasn’t it the truth I told you? |
| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake |