#01330
Molly McLaughlin (MacEdward Leach)
See also: Finnegan's Wake (Ryan's Fancy)
And also: Finnegan's Wake (Rankin Street)

I'm a decent labouring youth,
I were born in the town of Dunschlocklin,
I'm a widower now in my youth,
Since I buried sweet Molly McLaughlin;
I was married but once in my life,
I'll never commit such a sin again,
When I found that she was my wife,
She was fond of one Barney McFinnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

Her father had castles in mud,
In which I was fond of admiring,
They were built since the time of the flood,
To keep her ancestors drying;
When he found I had money bespoke,
Oh, first he got fat and then he got thin again,
In the struggle his gizzard he broke,
And that made a corpse of Finnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

For convenience the corpse was put,
Along with his friends in the barn, sure,
While some they came to it on foot,
And others came down from Dungaron's shore;
My wife she cried and she sobbed,
I chucked her out twice, she got in again,
And I gave her a belt in the gob,
When I was knocked down by McFinnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

The bed and the corpse was upset,
The row would commence in a minute, sure,
And, the devil, a bit of a stick had I got,
Till I tore a leg out of the furniture;
And, faith, the blood flew about,
Eyes were knocked out and shoved in again,
I got a Sou'westering clout,
Which put me on top of Finnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

How long I was dead I don't know,
I know that I wasn't living, sure,
Till I woke with a pain in my toes,
For they were both tied with a ribbon, sure;
I opened me mouth for to speak,
The sheet is clapped up to me chin again,
"Oh Molly," says I, "I am weak."
Says she, "You'll be buried with Finnegan."

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

I opened my eyes for to see,
I strove to get up to knock her about,
But I found that my toes they were tied,
Like a spoon in a pot o' thick stir-about;
I soon got the use of my toes,
By a friend of the corpse, Larry Linnegan,
Who helped me to get into my clothes,
And throw the grass quilt over Finnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

She didn't come home from the spree,
Full of whisky right up to the brim, sure,
And she showed as much mercy to me,
As a hungry man shows the red herring, sure;
One Billy Goat fist her I give,
Which caused her to grunt and to grin again,
And in six months I opened the grave,
And slapped her on the bones of Finnegan.

Whack fol-oral-i-dee,
Whack foloral-i-laddie-o;
Sing fol-de-dol-aral-i-dee,
To me right fo-oral-alady.

Oh, now I am single again,
I'll spend my time waking and battering,
I'll go to the fair with the men,
I'll dance with the girls for a pattern;
They swear I am stuck to the lean,
But as they says to catch him again,
Though they'll never come chuckle o'er me,
But they might be related to Finnegan.

####.... Author unknown. A less popular localized variant of John Frank Poole's [1826-1892] Finnegan's Wake, known better by the title Molly McLaughlin ....####
Collected in 1950 from John Joseph (Jack) Swain [1892-1982] of Calvert, NL, and published as Version 2 in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).


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