Songs > Finnegan's Wake

Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentle Irishman, mighty odd
With a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
	                 F   G      C
To rise in the world he carried a hod
        C                       Am 
You see he'd sort of a tippling way
           C                                 Am
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
      C                      Am
To help him with his work each day
           F                            G       C
He'd a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the dol now dance to your partner
Welt the floor, your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake

One morning Tim felt rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and he broke his skull
They carried him home his corpse to wake
They rolled 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

His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tae and cakes
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brian began to cry
Such a nice clean corpse did ye ever see?
Tim Mavournen, why did you die?
Ah hold your gob said Paddy Magee

Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job
Oh Biddy, said she, you're wrong I'm sure
Biddy gave her a belt on the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage
Twas woman to woman and man to man
Shillelah-law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began

Then Terry Mulrooney ducked his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed and falling on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim
Tim revives, see how he rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Saying, Whirl your whiskey 'round like blazes
Thana ma deal, do you think I'm dead?