Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
A gentleman Irish mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
An' to rise in the world he carried a hod
But Tim had a touch of the tipplin' way
With the love for the liquor poor Tim was born
And to send him on his way each day,
He'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn

Chorus
Whack fol the dah will ya dance to yer parner 
around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn'-n't it the truth 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 off the ladder and he broke his skull
And they carried him home his corpse to wake
Well they rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And they laid him out upon the bed
With a bottle of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head

Well his friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
Well first they brought in tay and cake
The pipes, tobacco and brandy punch
Then Widow Malone began to cry
'Such a lovely corpse, did you ever see
Arrah, Tim avourneen, why did you die?'
'Will ye hould your gob?' said Molly McGee

Well Mary O'Connor took up the job
'Biddy' says she 'you're wrong, I'm sure'
Well Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor
Well civil war did then engage
Woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a runction soon began

Well Jim Maloney raised his head
When a bottle of whiskey flew at him
He ducked and, landing on the bed
The whiskey scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he rises
Tim Finnegan rising in the bed
Saying 'Whittle your whiskey around like blazes
Thunderin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?'

Contact:- Sean McGuinness Phone (353 1) 4501244 Fax (353 1) 4501926 Email Click Here
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