Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
A gentle Irishman mighty odd
He'd a beautiful brogue, full rich and sweet,
An' to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way
with a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on with his work each day,
he'd a bottle of craythur every morn

Whack fol the dah now, dance to yer partner
welt to the floor, yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told ye?
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 Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake,
then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Benny O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim, avourneen, why did you die?",
"Ah, shut yer mouth?" said Paddy McGee

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job,
"O Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy then 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

The Benny ducked beneath a chair
when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and flyin through the air,
the liquor scattered over Tim
Dear God, he revives, see how he rises!
Finnegan rising from the bed
sayin "whirl your whiskey around like blazes,
glory Jesus d'ye think I'm dead?"


Whack fol the dah now, dance to yer partner
welt to the floor, yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told ye?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake