TIM FINNIGAN'S WAKE.
Tim Finnigan lived in Walker street,
A gentleman Irishman mighty odd,
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet,
And to rise in the world, be carried a hod;
But you see he'd a sort of a tippling way-
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born,
And to help through his work each day,
He'd a drop of the creatur' every morn.
Whack, hurrah! blood and 'ounds, ye sowl ye!
Welt the flure, ye're trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth Iv'e told ye?
Lots of fun at Finnigan's wake.
One morning Tim was rather full.
His head felt heavy, which made Mm shake,
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull.
So 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 round his feet,
And a couple of dozen around his head.-Chorus.
His friends assembled at his wake;
Missus Finnigan called out for the lunch,
First, they laid in day and cake,
Then pipes and tobacky and whisky-punch.
Miss Biddy O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a purty corpse did ever you see?
Arrah! Tim avoureen, an' why did ye die?"
"Och none of your gab, " sez Judy Magec.-Chorus.
Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job,
"Arrah! Biddy, " says she, "ye're wrong I'm sure;"
But Judy then gave her a belt on the gob,
And left her sprawling on the flure.
Each side in the war did soon engage'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillalah law was all the rage,
An' a bloody ruction soon began.-Chorus.
Mickey Mulvaney raised his head,
When a gallon of whiskey flew at him;
It missed him And hopping on the bed,
The liquor scattered over Tim!
Bedad, he revives! see how he raises!
An' Timothy, jumping from the bed,
Cries, while he lathers around like blazes,
"Bad luck to yer souls, d'ye think I'm dead! " -Chorus