The Healing Properties Of Alcohol

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Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
An Irish gentleman mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
An' to rise in the world he carried a hod
Now Tim he'd a sort of a tipplin' way
With a love of the liquor he was born
An' to help him off to work each day,
He'd a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the dow now dance to yer partner
Round the floor yer trotters shake
Wasn't that the truth I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

One morning Tim got rather full,
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from a ladder and he 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 bottle of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head

His friends assembled at the wake,
And Mrs Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake,
Then pipes, tobacco and a whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brien began to cry,
'Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim Mavourneen, why did you die?'
'Will ye hold your gob?' said Paddy McGee

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the cry,
'O Biddy' says she 'you're wrong, I'm sure'
So Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And sent her sprawling on the floor
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

Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed,
The liquor splashed all over Tim
Now the spirits gave life to the corpse
Tim jumped like a Trojan from the bed
Sayin 'Whittle your whiskey round like blazes
t'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?'


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