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Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin
A Irishman, mighty odd
He had a both rich and sweet
An' to rise in the world he a hod
You see a sort of a tipplers 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 with your partner
Around the floor, trotters shake
Isn't it the truth, I you?
Lots of fun at Wake

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

()

His friends assembled at the
And Mrs called for lunch
she served them tay and cake
Then pipes, and whiskey punch

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

()

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