Finnegan's Wake

Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street

A gentleman Irish, mighty odd;

He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet

And to rise in the world he carried a hod.

Now Tim had a sort o' the tipplin' way

With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born

And to help him on with his work each day

He'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn.

Chorus

Whack fol the dah now dance to your partner

Welt the flure, your trotters shake;

Wasn't it the truth I told you

Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

One mornin' Tim was rather full

His head felt heavy which made him shake,

He fell from the ladder and broke his skull

And they carried him home his corpse to wake.

They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet

And laid him out across 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 they brought in tea and cake

Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.

Biddy O'Brien began to cry

"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?

"Arrah, Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"

"Ah, shut your gob" said Paddy McGee!

Then Maggy O'Connor took up the job

"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure":

Biddy gave her a belt in the gob

And left her sprawlin' on the floor.

And then the war did soon engage

'Twas woman to woman and man to man,

Shillelagh law was all the rage

And the row and the ruction soon began.

Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head

When a flagon of whiskey flew at him,

It missed, and fallin' on the bed

The liquor scattered over Tim.

Tim revives! See how he rises!

Timothy rising from the bed

Sayin': "Whirl your liquor around like blazes!

Thanam o'n Dhoul! D'ye think I'm dead?"

Third Census of Finnegans Wake