Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Grafton Street, a gentleman Irish, mighty odd

Had a tongue both rich and sweet to rise in the world he carried a hod

Tim he'd a sort of the tipp' lin' way with the love of the liquor, he was born

And to send him on his way each day he'd a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the da, will you dance to your partner round the floor your trotters shake

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

One mornin' Tim was rather full his head felt heavy, which made him shake

He fell from the ladder and he broke his skull

And they carried him home his corpse to wake

They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him on upon the bed

With a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head