Tim Finnegan lived in Watlin Street, a gentle Irishman, mighty odd
He'd a brogue, rich and sweet, to rise in the world he carried a hod
He'd a sort of a tipplin' way, with a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his work each day he'd a drop of the creature every morn
One mornin Tim felt rather ill, his head was heavy which made him shake
He fell from a ladder and broke his skull and they carried him home, his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him out upon the bed
A barrel of porter at his feet and a gallon of whiskey at his
And whack fol-de-rol an' dance wit' yer partner, welt tha floor, yer trotters shake,
wasn' it tha truth I told ya, lots o' fun at Finnegan's wake!
His friends assembled at his wake and Missus Finnegan called fo' lunch
First they brought in tay and cake then pipes, tobacca an' whiskey punch
Biddy O' Brien began to cry, "Such a nice clean corpse did ya ever did see?
Tim avourneen why did ya die?" "Arhhh shut ya gob!" said Patty McGee
And whack fol-de-rol an' dance wit' yer partner, welt tha floor, yer trotters shake,
wasn' it tha truth I told ya, lots o' fun at Finnegan's wake!
Then Peggie O'Connor took up the job, "Biddy," she says, "You're wrong, I'm sure."
Biddy then gave her a belt on the gob and left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage, woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
Mickey Maloney raised his head when a bottle 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 dead
Sayin "Whailin' mah whiskey 'round like blazes, damn you all, do ye think I'm dead?"
And whack fol-de-dah now dance wit' yer partner, welt tha floor, yer trotters shake,
wasn' it tha truth I told ya, lots o' fun at Finnegan's wake!
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
