Print This Page#00995 Print This Page
Tim Finnegan lived on Rankin Street,
A gentle Irishman, by God;
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
To rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of a tippler's way,
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born;
And to help him on his way each day,
He'd a drop of the creature every morn.
Whack fol la dar-o, dance to your partner,
Round the floor your trotters shake;
This 'un is the truth, I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
One morning, Tim felt rather full,
His head felt heavy, which made him shake;
Fell from a ladder and he cracked his skull,
They carried him home, his corpse to wake.
Laid him out on a nice clean sheet,
And laid him out all on the bed;
Gallon of whiskey at his feet,
And a barrel of porter at his head.
Whack fol la dar-o, dance to your partner,
Round the floor your trotters shake;
This 'un is the truth, I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
His friends assembled at the wake,
And Mrs Finnegan called for lunch;
First she gave them tea and cake,
And pipes, baccy and whisky punch.
Biddy Malone began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see?
Oh, Tim malvourn' why did you die?"
"Well, hold yer gob," said Paddy McGhee.
Whack fol la dar-o, dance to your partner,
Round the floor your trotters shake;
This 'un is the truth, I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
Well, Billy Malone took up the job,
Says he, "Now Biddy, you're wrong, I'm sure."
Biddy gave him a belt in the gob,
And sent him sprawling on the floor.
Civil war did soon engage,
'Twas woman to woman and man to man;
Shillelagh law was all the rage,
And a row and a ruction soon began.
Whack fol la dar-o, dance to your partner,
Round the floor your trotters shake;
This 'un is the truth, I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
Then Paddy Malone ducked down his head,
As a bottle of whisky flew at him;
It missed and landed on the bed,
The whisky scattered over Tim.
Now Tim revived, see how he rises?
Timothy rising from the dead,
He said, "Whirl yer whisky around like blazes,
Hollerin' Jeez, d'ya think I'm dead?"
Whack fol la dar-o, dance to your partner,
Round the floor your trotters shake;
This 'un is the truth, I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
