Tim Finnegan lived in Watling Street A gentle Irishman mighty odd He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
To rise in the world he carried a hod You see he'd sort of a tippling way with love for a liquor poor Tim was born To help him on with his work every day He'd a drop of the Craythor every morn'
One morning Tim was rather full His head felt heavy which made him shake Fell from the ladder and broke his skull So they carried him home his corpse to wake Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet And laid him upon the bed A bottle of whiskey at his feet And a gallon of porter at his head
And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth I told ya Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake
His friends assembled at his wake And Missus Finnegan called for lunch First they brought in tay and cake Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey and punch Biddy O'Brien began to cry Such a nice clean corpse did you ever did see Tim mavourneen, why did you die? Hold your gob said Paddy McGee.
And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth I told ya Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake.
Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job Biddy she says You're wrong I'm sure Biddy then gave her a belt on the gob And left her sprawling on the floor Then the war did soon engage Woman to Woman and Man to Man Shillelah law was all the rage And a row and a ruction soon began
Mickey Maloney he raised his head When a bottle of whiskey 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 Whirl your whiskey around like blazes Thanum an Dhul, do ye think I'm dead.
And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth I told ya Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
