The Most Famous Irish Wake song ever! 

FINNEGAN'S WAKE  Click here for midi music! 

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street 
A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd; 
He had a brogue both rich and sweet 
And to rise in the world he carried a hod. 
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way 
With a love of the whiskey he was born 
And to help him on with his work each day 
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn. 

cho Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner 
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake; 
Wasn't it the truth I told you 
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake! 

One mornin' Tim was feelin' full 
His head was heavy which made him shake; 
He fell from 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, 
A gallon of whiskey at his feet 
And a barrel of porter at his head. 

cho: 

His friends assembled at the wake 
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch, 
First they brought in tay and cake 
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch. 
Biddy O'Brien began to bawl 
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see? 
"O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?" 
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee! 

cho: 

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job 
"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure" 
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob 
And left her sprawlin' on the floor. 
And then the war did soon engage 
'Twas woman to woman and man to man, 
Shillelagh law was all the rage 
And a row and a ruction soon began. 

cho: 

Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head 
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him, 
It missed, and falling on the bed 
The liquor scattered over Tim! 
The corpse revives! See how he raises! 
Timothy rising from the bed, 
Says,"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes 
Thanum an Dhul! Do you thunk I'm dead?" 

cho: 

What doth avail, far hence to sail, and leave our life in toiling 
Or to what end should we here spend our days in irksome moiling 
It is the best to live at rest and tak't as God doth sent it 
To haunt each wake and mirth to make, and with good fellows spend it-Heart’s Ease 

A man died in the Union by the name of McNabb 
They washed him, they laid him outside on a slab 
And after O'Connor his measurements did take 
His wife took him home for a bloody fine wake 
Well, about twelve o'clock and the beer it was high 
The corpse sits up and says he with a sigh 
"I can't get to heaven, they won't let me up 
'Till I bring them a quart of Johnny Jump-Up-Johnny Jump-Up 

When his day's work is over, oh what then will he do 
Perhaps then into some country wake he'll go 
And with his pretty sweetheart, he'll dance and he'll sing 
And at night he'll return with his love back again-Lark in the Morning 
 
 

Now allow me here to state, 
It is counted quite a trate, 
In old Ireland just for fight for friendship's sake 
To crack your neighbor's head, 
Or maybe your own instead. 
Faith 'tis just the fun and glory of a wake 
So you see all Irish boys are accustomed to such noise 
It's as natural as drinking whiskey neat. 
For there's none among them all, from Kingston to Donegal, 
Like the gallant Connaght Ranger on his beat.- The Connaght Ranger 

FINNEGAN'S OTHER WAKE 
(Charlie Miller 1983) 

Tim Finnegan was a moral man 
A member of the Majority, 
A fine, upstanding Republican 
With but one vice --- to water ski. 
Now one fine day to Pleasant Point 
The dozers came --- ka-chug, ka-chug 
They pumped the Delaware River dry 
And Tim was skiing in the mud. 

cho: Whack-fol-a-dol, now where's our river? 
Give it back for goodness sake, 
There's dead fish and rocks and mud 
But no more water in Finnegan's wake. 

Now Tim he left the office early 
Strapped his skis on at the pier, 
He shouted to the motor boat driver, 
"Come on! Get this thing in gear!" 
The driver gunned the Chrysler engine 
Tim grabbed the tow rope without fear, 
The prop churned gravel, the motor exploded 
Found Tim in mud up to his rear. 

Tim, he looked around with horror 
Said, "I voted for Ron, they can't do this to me!" 
I guess I'll have to use my noodle 
To figure out how I can ski." 
He got himself a big Ford Bronco 
Four-wheel drive and power brakes; 
Tied his tow rope to the bumper 
A spray of mud was Finnegan's wake. 

Now twenty miles south of there 
Philadelphians looked out to see 
A muddy gap between Penn's Landing 
And the State of New Jersey. 
But tho' container ships are stuck 
The Olympia turned on her side 
They'd sooner drive the Delaware 
Than to take I-95. 

Now Tim awoke, to his relief, 
To find that it was all a dream. 
They hadn't pumped out all the water 
We still had a running stream. 
But PECO's nukes are very thirsty 
They'll drink all the water they can take 
Hear the people, dump the pump 
So we can swim in Finnegan's wake. 
 

PAT MALONE FORGOT THAT HE WAS DEAD 

Times were hard in Irish town; everything was going down, 
Pat Malone was pushed for ready cash. 
He'd the life insurance spent; all his money, too, had went 
And all of his affairs had gone to smash. 
His wife spoke up and said, "Now, dear Pat, if you were dead 
This twenty thousand dollars we could take." 
And so Pat laid down and tried to make out that he had died 
Until he smelled the whiskey at the wake. 
Then Pat Malone forgot that he was dead. 
He raised himself in the bed and what he said, 
"If this wake goes on a minute, to be sure the corpse is in it 
You'll have to keep me drunk to keep me dead, " 

So they gave the corpse a cup, and afterward they filled it up 
And laid him down again upon the bed. 
And before the morning grey, everybody felt so gay 
They forgot that Pat was only playing dead. 
So they loaded him from the bunk, still alive but awful drunk 
And put him in the coffin with a prayer. 
And the driver of the cart said, "Be God, I'll never start 
Until I see that someone pays the fare." 
Then Pat Malone forgot that he was dead. 
He raised himself in the coffin, while he said, 
"If you fairly doubt my credit, you'll be sorry that you said it 
You drive on or else the corpse will break your head. 

So the funeral started out on the cemetery route, 
And the neighbors tried the widow to console. 
'Til they got beside the base of Malone's last resting place 
And gently lowered Patrick in the hole. 
Then Pat began to see, just as plain as one could see 
That he'd forgot to reckon on the end. 
And as clods began to drop he broke loose the coffin top 
And quickly to the earth he did ascend. 
Then Pat Malone forgot that he was dead, 
And from the cemetery quickly fled. 
He came nearly going under, it's a lucky thing, by thunder, 
That Pat Malone forgot that he was dead.* 

Then I came upon a friggin' wake for a friggin' rotten swine, 
By the name of Jock O'Leary and I touched his head with mine, 
And old Jock sat up in his box and raised his friggin' head. 
His wife took out a forty-four, and shot the bastard dead. 

Again I touched his head with mine and brought him back to life. 
His smiling face rolled on the floor, this time she used a knife. 
And then she fell upon her knees, and started in to pray, 
"It's forty years, O Lord," she said, "I've waited for this day." -Song from Lucifer's Hammer

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