Finnegan's Wake (Ryan's Fancy)

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentle Irishman, mighty odd;
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now, Tim had a bit of the tipplin' way
And With a love for the liquor he was born
And to send him on with his way each day
He'd a drop of the Craythur every morn.

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

One mornin' Tim was rather full
Well His head felt heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
So they took him home his corpse to wake.
Now They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid poor Tim out upon the bed,
With A bottle of whiskey at his feet
And a case of blue star at his head.

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

Now Tim's friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
Ah she brought in tay and whisky cakes
Then pipes, tobacca' and whiskey punch.
Now the widow Malone began to cry
"Oh, Such a lovely corpse, did you ever see?
"O Tim, me darlin', why did you die?"
"Arragh, hold your gob" says Molly McGee!

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

Now Mickey Kennedy took up the job
"See now Biddy," says he, "You're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave him a belt in the gob
And left him sprawlin' on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage
It woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began.

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

Now Mick Malone raised his head,
When a bottle of whiskey flew at him,
He ducked and it landed on the bed,
And liquor scattered over Tim;
Bedad, he revives, see how he rises,
Tim Finnegan rising in the bed,
Sayin', "You're throwing whiskey around like blazes,
Well Holy Moses, do you think I'm dead?'

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

Whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Round the floor, your trotters shake;
Isn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!