Lyrics:

Tim Finnegan lived in Watling Street
A gentleman Irish mighty odd
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod

You see he'd a sort of a tipplin' way
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on with his work each day
He'd a drop of the craythur every morn

And whack fol the darn
O dance to yer partner
Whirl the flure
Yer trotters shake

Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake

One morning Tim got rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and
They carried him home his corpse to wake

Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head

[Chorus]

His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cakes
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch

Biddy O'Brian began to cry
'Such a nice clean corpse did ye ever see?
Tim avourneen, O why did you die?'
'Will ye hold your gob?' said Paddy McGee

[Chorus]

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job
'O Biddy' says she 'you're wrong, I'm sure'
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor

Then the war did soon engage
Woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began

[Chorus]

Then Mickey Maloney raised his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim

Tim revives, see how he rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Says 'Whittle your whiskey around like blazes
Thanam o'n dhoul, do ye think I'm dead?'

[Chorus]