| Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street
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| A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd;
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| He had a brogue both rich and sweet
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| And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
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| Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way
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| With a love of the whiskey he was born
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| And to help him on with his work each day
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| He’d a «drop of the cray-thur"every morn.
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| chorus:
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| Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner
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| Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
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| Wasn’t it the truth I told you
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| Lots of fun at Finnegan’s wake!
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| One mornin' Tim was feelin' full
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| His head was heavy which made him shake;
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| He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
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| And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
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| They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
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| And laid him out upon the bed,
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| A gallon of whiskey at his feet
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| And a barrel of porter at his head.
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| cho
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| His friends assembled at the wake
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| And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
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| First they brought in tay and cake
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| Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
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| Biddy O’Brien began to bawl
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| «Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
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| «O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?»
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| Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee!
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| cho
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| Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job
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| «O Biddy,"says she, «You're wrong, I’m sure»
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| Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob
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| And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
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| And then the war did soon engage
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| 'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
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| Shillelagh law was all the rage
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| And a row and a ruction soon began.
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| cho
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| Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
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| When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
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| It missed, and falling on the bed
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| The liquor scattered over Tim!
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| The corpse revives!
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| See how he raises!
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| Timothy rising from the bed,
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| Says,"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes
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| Thanum an Dhul! |
| Do you thunk I’m dead?"
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| cho |