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Verse 1: Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentleman
Irish mighty odd
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Well
he had a tongue both rich and sweet an' to rise in the world he carried a hod
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Ah
but Tim had a sort of tipplin way with the love of the liquor he was born
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And
to send him on his way each day he'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn
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Ref.: Whack fol the dah
will ya dance to yer parner around the flure yer trotters shake
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Wasn't
it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
Verse 2: One morning Tim was rather full, his head felt
heavy which made him shake
He
fell off the ladder and he broke his skull and they carried him home his corpse
to wake
Well
they rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and they laid him out upon the bed
With
a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head
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Verse 3: Well his friends assembled at the wake and
Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
Well
first they brought in tay and cake, then pipes, tobacco and brandy punch
Then
Widow Malone began to cry 'Such a lovely corpse, did you ever see
Arrah,
Tim Mavourneen, why did you die?' 'Will ye hould your gob?' said Molly McGee
Ref.:
Verse 4: Well Mary O'Connor took up the job 'Biddy'
says she 'you're wrong, I'm sure
Well
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and left her sprawling on the floor
Well
civil war did then engage, woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh
law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
Ref.:
Verse 5: Well Tim Maloney raised his head, when a
bottle of whiskey flew at him
He
ducked and, landing on the bed, the whiskey scattered over Tim
Bedad
he revives, see how he rises Tim Finnegan rising in the bed
Saying
"Whittle your whiskey around like blazes t'underin' Jaysus, do ye think
I'm dead?"
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