| Tim Finnegan lived on Walker Street
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| And a gentle, Irishman, mighty odd;
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| He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
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| And to rise in the world he carried a hod
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| You see he’d a sort o' the tipplin' way
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| With a love of the liquor poor Tim 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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| Whack fol the die do, dance to your partner
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| Welt 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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| 2. One mornin' Tim was rather full
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| His head felt 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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| With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
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| And a barrel of porter at his head
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| 3. His friends assembled at the wake
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| And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
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| First they brought in tea and cake
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| Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
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| Biddy O’Brien began to cry
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| «Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
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| «Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?»
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| «Arragh, hold your gob» said Paddy McGee!
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| 4. 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 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 the row and eruption soon began
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| 5. Then Mickey Maloney raised his head
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| When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
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| It missed, and fallin' on the bed
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| The liquor scattered over Tim!
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| Tim revives! |
| 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 o’n Dhoul! |
| Did you think I’m dead?" |