Finnegan’s wake Christy Moore

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Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentle Irishman
Mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet, an' to rise in the
World he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way but the love for
The liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day, he'd a drop of the
Craythur every morn

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the
Flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at
Finnegan's Wake

One morning Tim got rather full, his head felt heavy
Which made him shake
Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and they
Carried him home his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out
Upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter
At his head

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the
Flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at
Finnegan's Wake