Album Name : By Popular Demand
Release Date : 2005-09-09
Song Duration : 4:25
Seamus Kennedy Finnegan's Wake
Tim Finnegan lived in Watling St., a gentleman Irish mighty odd, He had a brogue both rich and sweet, and to rise in the world he carried a hod. Tim had a sort of a tippler's way, with a love for the liquor poor Tim was born To help him on his work each day, he'd a drop of the craytur every morn.
Whack fol-de-da now, dance to your partners, welt the floor, yer trotters shake, Wasn't it the truth I told ye, lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
One morning Tim was rather full, his head felt heavy which made him shake, Fell off a ladder and he broke his skull, and they carried him home his corpse to wake, They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him out upon the bed, With a barrel of whiskey at his feet and a bucket of porter at his head.
Whack fol-de-da now, dance to your partners, welt the floor, yer trotters shake, Wasn't it the truth I told ye, lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
The guests assembled at the wake, when Mrs. Finnegan called for Lunch, First she brought them tea and cake, pipes, tobacco, and brandy punch. Then the Widow Malone began to cry, "Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see? "Tim mavourneen, why did ye die?" "Hould yer gob." said Molly Magee.
Whack fol-de-da now, dance to your partners, welt the floor, yer trotters shake, Wasn't it the truth I told ye, lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
Then Molly Malone takes up the job; "Ah Biddy" says she, "you're wrong I'm sure." Biddy fetched her a belt in the gob that left her sprawling on the floor. Civil war did then engage, woman to woman and man to man, Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began.
Whack fol-de-da now, dance to your partners, welt the floor, yer trotters shake, Wasn't it the truth I told ye, lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.
Then Mickey Murphy ducked his head as a bottle of whiskey flew at him, It missed, and landing on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim. Bedad, he revives, see how he rises; Timothy risin' in the bed, Saying, "Whirl yer whiskey round like blazes, Be the thunderin' Jaysus d'ye think I'm dead!"