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

()
Whack fol the dah, now dance with partner
Around the floor, your trotters
it the truth, I tell you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's

One morning Tim felt full
His felt 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, sheet
And laid him out there upon the bed
With a bottle of whiskey at his
And a barrel of at his head

()

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

Biddy O'Brien began to
"Such a clean corpse, did you ever see
Tim avourneen, why did you die?"
"Will ye hould your gob?" said McGee

()

Then O'Harriton got the job:
"Biddy" she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a upon the gob
And sent her sprawlin' on the
T'was then the war did soon
It was woman to and man to man
law, did all engage
And a row and a ruction soon

()

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