Finnegan's Wake Tim Finnegan lived in Watling street, A gentleman Irish, mighty odd. He had a tongue both rich and sweet, And to rise in the world he carried a hod. Now Tim had a sort of tipling way, With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born. And to help him on his way each day, He’d a drop of the cratur ev’ry morn. CHORUS: Whack fol de da now dance to your partner, `Round the floor yer trotters shake. Wasn’t it the truth that I told you; Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake One morning Tim was rather full. His head felt heavy which made him shake. He fell from the ladder and broke his skull, So they carried him home, his corpse to wake. They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet, And laid him out upon the bed. With a gallon 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 brought in tay and cakes, Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch. Miss Biddy O’Brien began to cry. "Such a neat clean corpse did you ever see. Yerrah Tim, avourneen, why did you die?" "Ah! hold your tongue", says Paddy Magee. CHORUS Then Biddy O’Conner took up the moan, "Biddy" says she, "you’re wrong I’m sure." But Biddy gave her a belt in the gob, And left her sprawling on the floor. Oh, then a mighty war did rage. `Twas woman to woman and man to man. Shillelagh law did all engage, And a row and ruction soon began. CHORUS Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head, When a naggin of whiskey flew at him. It missed him, falling on the bed The liquor splattered over Tim. Bedad, he revives and see how he rises, And Timothy rising from the bed. Says "Fling your whiskey round like blazes. Thunderin’ Jaysus, do you think I’m dead?" CHORUS