Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street A gentle Irishman mighty odd He had a brogue both rich and sweet An to rise to the world he carried a hod He had sort of a tipplers way For the love of the liquor poor tim was born To help him on his way each day He had a drop of the craythur every morn
One morning Tim got rather full His head felt heavy which made him shake He fell from a ladder and he broke his skull Oh they carried him home his corpse to wake Wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet Laid him out upon the bed A bottle of whiskey at his feet And a barrel of porter at his head
Whack for the da now dance to your partner Round the floor your trotters shake Bend an ear to the truth I tell you We had lots of fun at Finnegans Wake
His friends assembled at the wake And widow Finnegan called for lunch First she brought in tea and cake Then pipes tobacco whiskey punch Biddy OBrien began to cry Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see Tim auvreem why did you die Will you hold your gob said Paddy McGee
Then Maggie OConner took up the cry O Biddy says youre wrong im sure Biddy gave her a belt in the gob And sent her sprawling on the floor Then the war did soon enrage Twas woman to woman and man to man Shillelagh law was all the rage And a row and a ruction soon began
Mickey Maloney ducked his head When a bucket of whiskey flew at him It missed and falling on the bed The liquor scattered over Tim Timothy risen up he risen Jumped like a trojan from the bed Saying will ye walup each girl and boy Tunderin Jesus do you think Im deadTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
