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Tim Finnegan in Walkin Street
A Irishman, mighty odd
He had a brogue both and sweet
An' to in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a of a tipplers way
But the for the liquor poor Tim was born
And to him on his way each day
a drop of the craythur every morn

()
Whack fol the dah, now with your partner
Around the floor, your shake
it the truth, I tell you?
Lots of fun at Wake

One Tim felt rather full
His head heavy, which made him shake
He fell off his ladder and he broke his
So they him home, his corpse to wake
They wrapped him up in a nice, sheet
And laid him out there upon the bed
With a of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his

()

His friends at the wake
And Mrs called for lunch
First she served them tay and
pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch

Biddy O'Brien to cry:
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you see
Tim avourneen, why did you die?"
"Will ye hould gob?" said Paddy McGee

()

Then Ginny O'Harriton got the
"Biddy" she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a upon the gob
And her sprawlin' on the floor
T'was the war did soon engage
It was to woman and man to man
law, did all engage
And a row and a soon began

()

Then Maloney ducked his head
When a bucket of flew at him
It missed, and on the bed
And the whisky over poor old Tim
Bedad he revives, now see him
Tim Finnegan and up in the bed
Throwin' the around the place
"T'underin' Jaysus, do ye I'm dead?"