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Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin street, A gentleman Irish, mighty odd.
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He had a brogue both rich and sweet, And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
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You see he'd a sort of a tipplin' way
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With a love for the liquor he was born.
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And to help him on his way each day,
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He'd a drop of the craythur ev'ry morn.
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Whack fol' the dah, now, dance to your partner. Wipe the floor, your trotters shake.
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wasn't it the truth I told ya? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake.
(two bits ending)
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