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Tim Finnigan lived in Walker street,
a gentle Irish man mighty odd. He'd beautiful brogue so rich and sweet and to rise in the world he carried a hod. Now you see he'd a sort of a tippling way with a love of liquor, Rim was born and to help him on hi way each day he'd a drop of the creatur evry morn. |
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Whack for the hurrah take your partners
round the floor ye trotters shake Isn't the truth I told you lots of fun at Finnigab's wake. |
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One morning Tim was rather full;
his head felt heavy which made him shake He fell off the ladder and broke his skull, so they carried him home a corpse to wake They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out upon the bed whith plenty of candles around his feet, and a couple of dozen around his head. |
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His friends assembled at the wake,
and Missus Finnigan called for lunch. First they laid out tea and cakes, then pipes and tobacco and whiskey punch. Then Biddy O'Brien began to cry, such a lovely corpse did you ever see ? Arrah! Tim avourneen why did you die; ah! none of your gab said Biddy Magee. |
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Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job;
Arrah! Biddy says she, you're wrong I'm sure. But Biddy gave her a belt on the gob, and left her sprawling on the floor. Each side in the war did soon engage; 't was woman to woman and man to man. Shillelagh-law was all the rage, and a row and a ruction soon began. |
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Mickey Maloney raised his head,
when a gallon of whiskey flew at him. It missed and landed on the bed, the whiskey scattered over Tim. Bedad he revives! see how he rises. Tim Finnigan jumping from the bed, Crying while he ran around like blazes, thundering blazes ye think I'm dead. |
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