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Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin
A Irishman, mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and
An' to in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a way
But the love for the liquor poor Tim was
And to help him on his way day
He'd a of the craythur every morn

()
Whack fol the dah, now dance your partner
Around the floor, your trotters
Isn't it the truth, I you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's

One morning Tim felt full
His head heavy, which made him shake
He fell off his and he broke his skull
So they him home, his corpse to wake
They wrapped him up in a nice, clean
And laid him out there upon the bed
With a bottle of at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his

()

His friends assembled at the
And Mrs Finnegan called for
First she served them tay and
Then pipes, tobacco and punch

O'Brien began to cry:
"Such a nice corpse, did you ever see
Tim avourneen, why did you die?"
"Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy

()

Then O'Harriton got the job:
"Biddy" she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a clapper the gob
And sent her on the floor
then the war did soon engage
It was to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law, did all
And a row and a ruction began

()

Then Mickey Maloney his head
When a bucket of whiskey at him
It missed, and on the bed
And the whisky splattered over old Tim
Bedad he revives, now see him
Tim Finnegan and up in the bed
Throwin' the whiskey the place
"T'underin' Jaysus, do ye I'm dead?"