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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

Tim Finnegan lived in Street
A Irishman, mighty odd
He had a brogue both and sweet
An' to rise in the he carried a hod
You see a sort of a tipplers way
But the for the liquor 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 your partner
the floor, your trotters shake
Isn't it the truth, I you?
Lots of fun at Wake

One morning Tim rather full
His head felt heavy, 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 they laid him out upon the bed
With a bottle of at his feet
And a of porter at his head

()

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

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

()

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

()

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 Finnegan and up in the bed
Throwin' the around the place
"T'underin' Jaysus, do ye I'm dead?"