Finnegan's Wake


 * Tim Finnegan lived in Watling Street
 * A gentleman Irish, mighty odd;
 * He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
 * And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
 * Now Tim had a sort o' the tipplin' way
 * With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born
 * And to help him on with his work each day
 * He'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn.

Chorus
 * Whack fol the dah now dance to your partner
 * Welt the flure, your trotters shake;
 * Wasn't it the truth I told you
 * Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!


 * One mornin' 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 wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet
 * And laid him out across the bed,
 * With a gallon 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 they brought in tea and cake
 * Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
 * Biddy O'Brien began to cry
 * "Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
 * "Arrah, Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
 * "Ah, shut your gob" said Paddy McGee!


 * Then Maggy O'Connor took up the job
 * "O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure":
 * Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
 * And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
 * And then the war did soon engage
 * 'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
 * Shillelagh law was all the rage
 * And the row and the ruction soon began.


 * Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
 * When a flagon of whiskey flew at him,
 * It missed, and fallin' on the bed
 * The liquor scattered over Tim.
 * Tim revives! See how he rises!
 * Timothy rising from the bed
 * Sayin': "Whirl your liquor around like blazes!
 * Thanam o'n Dhoul! D'ye think I'm dead?"