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169 FINNIGAN'S WAKE
For a nearly identical text of this song see O'Conor, p. 136. See also Eddy, No. 90, Stx Hundred and Seventeen Irish Songs and Ballads, p. 29; and The Universal Irish Song Boo\, p. 132.
The present version was sung in 1931 by Mr. B. A. Chickering, Belding, who learned the song from his father.
1 Tim Finnigan lived in bankers' street; He's an Irish gentleman, mighty odd; He's a beautiful brogue, so rich and sweet, And by profession he carried a hod.
But you see, he'd a sort of tipsy way; With a love for liquor poor Tim was born, And to help him through with his work each day He'd a drop o' the crature every morn.
Whack the flure, and dance to your partners!
Welt the flure, your trotters shake!
O isn't it the truth I tell you
There's lots 0' fun at Fmnigan's wake!
2 One morning 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 fourteen candles at his feet And a barrel of praties at his head.
3 His friends assembled at the wake; Missus Finnigan called up for the lunch; First they laid in tay and cake,
Then pipe and tobacky and whiskey-punch. Miss Biddy O'Brien begin to cry, "Such a beautiful corpse did you ever see? Arrah, Tim Aberdeen! an' why did you die?" "Hold your gob," said Judy McGee,