Finnegan's Wake

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 for 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

round the flure yer trotters shake

Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye,

we had 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

His friends assembled at the wake,

and Widow 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, auvreem! O, why did you die?",

"Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the cry,

"O Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"

Biddy gave her a belt in the gob

and sent 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

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

Now the spirits new life gave the corpse, my joy!

Tim jumped like a Trojan from the bed

Cryin will ye walup each girl and boy,

t'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"