Finnegan’s Wake 
Tim Finnegan lived in Waulkin Street, A gentle Irishman mighty odd
 Had a tongue so rich and sweet and  to rise in the world he carried a hod
Tim had a sort of a tippling way With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on  his way each day He'd a drop of the Craytor every morn'

One morning Tim was rather full His head felt heavy, which made him shake
Fell from the ladder and broke his skull So they carried him home, his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet And laid him upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet And a gallon of porter at his head

And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake

His friends assembled at his wake And Missus Finnegan called for lunch
First they brought in tay and cake Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brien begged to cry Such a nice clean corpse did you see
Aye, Tim me boy, oh why did you die? Arrah shut your gob said Paddy MCGee

And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner Welt the floor, your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake

Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job Biddy says she you're wrong I'm sure
Biddy then gave her a belt on the gob And left her sprawling on the floor
 There the war did soon engage Woman to woman and man to man
Shillelah-law was all the rage An a row and a ruction soon began

Mickey Maloney raised his head When a bottle Of whiskey flew at him
It missed him falling on the bed The liquor scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he risesTimothy rising from the bed
Whirl your whiskey around like blazes Tonamondeal, do you think I'm dead
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