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 the love for the liquor poor Tim was born And to help him on his way each day He'd a drop of the craythur every morn
(Chorus) Whack fol the dah, now dance with your partner Around the floor, your trotters shake Isn't it the truth, I tell you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
One morning Tim felt rather full His head felt heavy, which made him shake He fell off his ladder and he broke his skull So they carried him home, his corpse to wake They wrapped him up in a nice, clean sheet And they laid him out there upon the bed With a bottle of whiskey at his feet And a barrel of porter at his head
(Chorus)
His friends assembled at the wake And Mrs Finnegan called for lunch First she served them 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 avourneen, why did you die?" "Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee
(Chorus)
Then Ginny O'Harriton got the job: "Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure" Biddy gave her a clapper upon the gob And sent her sprawlin' on the floor T'was then the war did soon engage It was woman to woman and man to man Shillelagh law, did all engage And a row and a ruction soon began
(Chorus)
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head When a bucket of whiskey flew at him It missed, and landed on the bed And the whisky splattered over poor old Tim Bedad he revives, now see him rise Tim Finnegan rise and up in the bed Throwin' the whiskey around the place "T'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"