Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentle Irishman, 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 a tipplin' way; for the love of the liquor poor Tim was born,
And too 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 floor yer 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;