Tim Finnegan lived in street A Irishman, mighty odd He'd a brogue so rich and sweet To rise in the world, he a hod
See, sort of a tipplin' way With love for the poor Tim was born To help him on his work each day He'd a of the craythur every morn'
fol, de, dah Now, dance to your Welt the floor, trotters shake Wasn't it the truth, told ye lots of fun At Finnegan's
One Tim got rather full His head felt heavy made him shake Fell from a and he broke his skull They carried him home, his corpse to
him up in a nice clean sheet And him out upon the bed A of whiskey at his feet And a bottle of porter at his
fol, de, dah Now, dance to your Welt the floor, your shake Wasn't it the truth, they told ye of fun At Finnegan's
His assembled at the wake And Finnegan called for lunch First she brought in tea and Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey
O'Brien began to cry Such a clean corpse, did you ever see? Tim mavourneen, why did you Arrah, hold your gob, Patty Megee
fol, de, dah Now, dance to your Welt the floor, trotters shake Wasn't it the truth, told ye lots of fun At Finnegan's
Then Maggie O'Connor up the job "Arrah", biddy says, she ye're wrong, I'm Biddy gave her a belt on the gob And left her sprawling on the
There the war did soon Woman to and man to man law was all the rage An a row and a ruction soon
fol, de, dah Now, dance to your Welt the floor, your trotters it the truth, they told ye lots of fun At wake
Mickey Maloney raised his head When a of whiskey flew at him It missed him on the bed The liquor scattered Tim
Tim revives, see how he Timothy rising the bed Then Whirl your whiskey Like blazes an Dhul Do ye think I'm