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Finnegan's WakeTim Finnegan lived in Walkin StreetA gentleman Irish mighty oddWell he had a tongue both rich and sweetAn´ to rise in the world he carried a hodAh but Tim had a sort of tipplin wayWith the love of the liquor he was bornAnd to send him on his way each dayHe´d a drop of the craythur ev´ry mornOne morning Tim was rather fullHis head felt heavy which made him shakeHe fell off the ladder and he broke his skullAnd they carried him home his corpse to wakeWell they rolled him up in a nice clean sheetAnd they laid him out upon the bedWith a bottle of whiskey at his feetAnd a barrel of porter ath is headWell his friends assembled at the wakeAnd Mrs. Finnegan called for lunchWell first they brought in tay and cakeThe pipes, tobacco and brandy punchThen Widow Malone began to cry´Such a lovely corpse, did you ever seeArrah, Tim Mavourneen, why did you die?´´Will ye hould your gob?´ said Molly McGeeWell Mary O´Connor took up the job´Biddy´ says she ´you´re wrong, I´m sureWell Biddy gave her a belt in the gobAnd left her sprawling on the floorWell civil war did then engageWoman to woman and man to manShillelagh law was all the rageAnd a row and a runction soon beganWell Tim Maloney raised his headWhen a bottle of whiskey flew at himHe ducked and, landing on the bedThe whiskey scattered over TimBedad he revives, see how he risesTim Finnegan rising in the bedSaying "Whittle your whiskey around like blazesT´underin´ Jaysus, do ye think I´m dead?"Whack fol the dah will ya dance to yer parner around the flure yer trotters shakeWasn´-n´t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan´s Wake Aus Songtexte Mania