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

()
Whack fol the dah, now dance your partner
the floor, your trotters shake
Isn't it the truth, I tell
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 they carried him home, his corpse to
They wrapped him up in a nice, sheet
And they laid him out there the bed
With a of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of at his head

()

His assembled at the wake
And Mrs Finnegan for lunch
First she them tay and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and 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 clapper the gob
And sent her sprawlin' on the
T'was then the war did soon
It was woman to and man to man
Shillelagh law, did all
And a row and a ruction began

()

Then Maloney ducked his head
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 rise and up in the bed
Throwin' the around the place
"T'underin' Jaysus, do ye I'm dead?"