Michael Finnegan - Sharon Jones, David Jones & Rob Inch

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street A gentleman Irish, mighty odd He had a brogue both rich and sweet And to rise in the world he carried a hod You see he'd a sort of the tipp' lin' way With the love of the liquor, poor Tim was born And to help him on with his work each day He'd a drop of the craythur every morn Whack fol the da, now, dance to your partner Welt the floor your trotters shake Wasn't it the truth I tell 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 out upon the bed With a gallon of whiskey at his feet And a barrel of porter at his head His friends assembled at the wake And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch First they brought in tay 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?" "Arrah hold your gob" said Paddy McGee Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job "O Biddy, " says she "you're wrong I'm sure" Biddy gave her a belt in the gob And left her sprawling on the floor Then the war did soon engage It was woman to woman and man to man Shillelagh law was all the rage And a row and a ruction soon began Then Mickey Maloney raised his head When a bucket of whiskey flew at him It missed and falling on the bed The liquor scattered over Tim Tim revives, see how he rises Timothy rising from the bed Said "Whirl your whiskey around like blazes Thundering Jesus, do you think I'm dead?"

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, A gentle Irishman mighty odd He had a brogue both rich and sweet, An' to rise in the world he carried a hod You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way But for the love for the liquor poor Tim was born To help him on his way each day, He'd a drop of the craythur every morn Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner Round the flure yer trotters shake Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye, We had lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake One morning Tim got rather full, His head felt heavy which made him shake Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and They carried him home his corpse to wake Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, And laid him out upon the bed A bottle of whiskey at his feet And a barrel of porter at his head His friends assembled at the wake, And Widow Finnegan called for lunch First she brought in tay and cake, Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch Biddy O'Brien began to cry, "Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see, Tim, auvreem! O, why did you die?", "Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee Then Maggie O'Connor took up the cry, "O Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure" Biddy gave her a belt in the gob And sent her sprawling on the floor Then the war did soon engage, T'was 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 Now the spirits new life gave the corpse, my joy! Tim jumped like a Trojan from the bed Cryin will ye walup each girl and boy, T'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"

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 Trippling way: with love for a liquor Poor Tim was born, to help him on with His work each 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 laided Him upon the bed, A bottle of Whiskey At his feet, and a gallon of Porter At his head Chorus: And 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 his wake And Missus Finnegan called for lunch First they brought in tea and cake Then pipes, tobacco and Whiskey Punch Biddy OBrien begged to cry, such a Nice clean corpse did you see Arrah hold your gob see Paddy Magee Chorus: Then O Connor took up the job "Arrah!" Biddy says she Ye're wrong I'm Sure, Biddy then gave her a belt on The gob and left her sprawling on the Floor, there the war did soon engage Woman to Woman and Man to Man Shillelah-law was all the rage, an A Row and a Ruction soon began Mickey Maloney 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 Whisky around like blazes Tonamondeal, do ye think I'm dead