C Am F G Tim Finnegan lived in Watling Street a gental Irishman...mighty Odd C Am Heʼd a beautiful brogue, so rich and sweet and to rise F G C in the world he carried a Hod Am You see heʼd a sort of a tippling way with the love F G for the liquor poor Tim was born C Am And to help him on with his work each day heʼd a drop F G C of the craythur every mornʼ. Chorus: C Am And Whack-fold-de-dah now dance to your partner F G Welt the floor, till you trotter & shake C Am Wasnʼt it the truth I told ye? F G C Lots of fun a Finneganʼs wake One mornin Tim was rather full His head felt heavy, which made him shake, He fell from the ladder and broke his skull so they carried him home his corpse to wake They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him out upon the bed With a gallon of whisky at his feet and a bottle of porter at his head His friends assembled at the wake; and missus Finnegan called for lunch First they brought in tay and cake; then pipes, tobacco & whisky punch Biddy OʼBrian began to cry such a nice clean corpse did you ever see Tim avourneen, why did you die? Arrah hold your gob sez Patty Magee Then Maggie OʼConnor took up the job Arrah! Biddy," says she, your worng Iʼm sure But Biddy then gave her a belt on the gob and left her sprawlin on the flure Then the war did soon engage, woman to woman & man to man Shillelah-law was all the rage Anʼ a row anʼ a ruction soon began Then Mickey Moloney raised his head when a noggon of whiskey flew at him It missed him fallin on the bed The liquor scattered over Tim! Tim revives see how he rises Timothy Rising from the bed Said whirl yer whiskey around like blazes Todamon deal do ye think Iʼm Dead
