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Finnegan's Wake (Live)
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He's not really dead!
songwriter music lyrics songs celtic scottish irish accordion christmas comedy mandolin darbyogillband darby ogill
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Irish Scottish Celtic Rock Blues original Songs in a Stage show of Comedy Fun and Diversion from Life with Love Beer Drink and Spirit
Rollickin' Irish Stage Show
Song Info
Genre
World • Traditional Irish
Charts
Peak #5
Peak in subgenre #1
Author
Trad. PD.
Rights
1996, Darby O'Gill
Uploaded
June 15, 2009
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.5 MB • 128 kbps • 3:48
Lyrics
Finnegans Wake Traditional Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street; a gentleman - Irish, mighty odd Hed a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet; and to rise in the world he carried a hod Now Tim had a sort of a tipplin way; with the love of the liqueur poor Tim was born And to help him on with his way each day hed a drop of the craythur every morn Chorus: Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake Wasnt it the truth that I told ye: lots o fun at Finnegans wake One mornin Tim was rather full. His head felt heavy which made him shake He fell off the ladder and broke his skull and they carried him home his corpse to wake They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him out upon the bed With a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a gallon of porter at his head His friends assembled at the wake, and the widow Finnegan called for lunch First she brought in tay and cakes, then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch Biddy OBrien began to cry: Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see Tim, Mavourneen, why did ye die? Shut yer gob said Paddy McGhee Then Maggie OConnor took up the job: O Biddy, says she, youre wrong Im sure Then Biddy fetched her a belt in the gob and left her sprawlin on the floor Civil war did then engage; twas woman to woman and man to man Shelelaigh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head as a bottle of whiskey flew at him It missed, and landing on the bed, the whiskey scattered over Tim Tim revived, bedad he arises; Timothy risin from the bed Sayin: Whirl yer whiskey around like blazes; thunder and Jesus, do ye think Im dead
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