Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street.
A gentleman, Irishman, mighty odd
He'd seen a brogue so soft and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Tim had a sort of a tipplin way.

With a love of the liquor now he was born
Helped a man with his work each day.
He'd a drop of the craythin' every morn'

Whack fol-de-dah
Now dance to your partner,
Welt the floor,
Your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth
I told ye lots of fun at finnegan's wake

One mornin Tim felt rather full.
His head felt heavy which made him shake;
Fell from a the ladder and burst his skull
So they carried him home, his corpse to wake.
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
Laid him out upon the bed,
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrell of porter at his head.

Whack fol-de-dah
Now dance to your partner,
Welt the floor,
Your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth
I told ye lots of fun at finnegan's wake

His friends assembled at the wake.
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brung in tea and cake.
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to cry.
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see
"Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
Arragh, shut your gob says Paddy McGhee!

Whack fol-de-dah
Now dance to your partner,
Welt the floor,
Your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth
I told ye lots of fun at finnegan's wake

Paddy O'Connor took up the job.
"Now Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob.
And left her sprawlin on the floor.
Then the war did soon enrage.
Woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage.
And a row and a ruction soon began.
Mickey Maloney lowered his head
And a bottle of whickey flew at him,
It missed him falling on the bed,
The liquor scattered over tim,
Tim revives,
See how he rises,
Timothy rising from the bed
Said 'Whirl your liquor around, and run like blazes
Well mother of Jesus, Do ye think i'm dead!'

Whack fol-de-dah
Now dance to your partner,
Welt the floor,
Your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth
I told ye lots of fun at finnegan's wake.