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, he'd sort of a way With love for the liquor poor Tim was To help him on with his work day He'd a of the craythur every morn'
fol, de, dah Now, to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters Wasn't it the truth, they told ye of fun At wake
One morning Tim got full His head felt which made him shake from a ladder and he broke his skull They carried him home, his corpse to
him up in a nice clean sheet And laid him out the bed A of whiskey at his feet And a bottle of at his head
fol, de, dah Now, dance to your the floor, your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth, told ye lots of fun At wake
His friends assembled at the And misses called for lunch First she brought in tea and Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey
Biddy began to cry Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever Tim mavourneen, why did you Arrah, your gob, said Patty Megee
fol, de, dah Now, dance to partner the floor, your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth, they told ye of fun At Finnegan's
Then O'Connor took up the job "Arrah", says, she ye're wrong, I'm sure Biddy then gave her a on the gob And left her on the floor
There the war did soon to woman and man to man Shillelah law was all the An a row and a ruction began
fol, de, dah Now, to your partner Welt the floor, your shake Wasn't it the truth, they told ye of fun At Finnegan's
Mickey Maloney raised his head When a bottle of whiskey at him It him falling on the bed The liquor scattered Tim
Tim revives, see how he Timothy rising the bed Then Whirl your around Like Thanum an Dhul Do ye I'm dead?