Tim Finnigan lived in Walker Street
A gentle Irish man mighty odd.
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
You see he'd a sort of a tippling way
With a love for the liquor, Tim was born
To help him on with his work each day
He'd a drop of the creature every morn.
Whack for the didloh, dance die ye partners
Round the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnigan's wake.
One morning Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell off the ladder and broke his skull
So they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a bottle of porter at his head.
His friends assembled at the wake
And Missis Finnigan called for lunch
First they laid out tea and cakes
Then pipes tobacco and whiskey punch.
Then Biddy O'Brien began to cry
Such a lovely corpse did you ever see
Arrah! Tim avourneen why did you die
Ah! none of your gab said Biddy Magee.
Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job
Arrah! Biddy says she, you're wrong I'm sure
But Biddy gave her a belt on the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor.
Each side in war did soon engage
't was woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh-law was all the rage
And the row and a ruction soon began.
Mickey Maloney raised his head
When a gallon of whiskey flew at him
It missed and landed on the bad
The liquor scattered over Tim.
Tim revives! see how he rises
Tim Finnigan jumping from the bed
Crying while he ran around like blazes
Thundering blazes ye think I'm dead.
Note: the title of this well-known Dublin Ballad was used by James Joyce for his famous book which is set in Dublin.