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Tim Finnegan in Walkin Street
A gentle Irishman, odd
He had a brogue rich and sweet
An' to rise in the world he 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 drop of the craythur every

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

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

()

His friends at the wake
And Mrs called for lunch
First she them tay and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey

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

()

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

()

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