Misc Unsigned Bands – Darby Ogill - Finnegans Wake (Guitar)

    C                  Am              F                         G
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street; a gentleman - Irish, mighty odd

       C                            Am            F                    G         C
He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet; and to rise in the world he carried a hod

    C                   Am                     C                        Am
Now Tim had a sort of a tipplin’ way; with the love of the liqueur poor Tim was born

       C                    Am                  F                    G     C
And to help him on with his way each day he’d a drop of the craythur every morn

C                    Am                    F                    G
Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake

C             Am                    F              G          C
Wasn’t it the truth that I told ye: lots o’ fun at Finnegan’s wake

    C               Am              F                      G
One mornin’ Tim was rather full. His head felt heavy which made him shake

   C                       Am                       F                    G         C
He fell off the ladder and broke his skull and they carried him home his corpse to wake

    C                              Am         C                    Am
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet and laid him out upon the bed

       C                 Am                 F               G      C
With a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a gallon of porter at his head

C                    Am                    F                    G
Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake

C             Am                    F              G          C
Wasn’t it the truth that I told ye: lots o’ fun at Finnegan’s wake

    C                        Am            F                         G
His friends assembled at the wake, and the widow Finnegan called for lunch

C                    Am                    F                G       C
First she brought in tea and cakes, then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch

C                      Am          C                              Am
Biddy O’Brien began to cry: Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see

C                Am              F                 G     C
Tim, Mavourneen, why did ye die? Shut yer gob said Paddy McGee

C                    Am                    F                    G
Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake

C             Am                    F              G          C
Wasn’t it the truth that I told ye: lots o’ fun at Finnegan’s wake

     C                           Am    F                                 G
Then Maggie O’Connor took up the job O Biddy, says she, you’re wrong I’m sure

     C                   Am                  F                  G      C
Then Biddy fetched her a belt in the gob and left her sprawlin’ on the floor

C                  Am             C                 Am
Civil war did then engage; ‘twas woman to woman and man to man

     C             Am                 F                 G    C
Shelelaigh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began

C                    Am                    F                    G
Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake

C             Am                    F              G          C
Wasn’t it the truth that I told ye: lots o’ fun at Finnegan’s wake

     C                         Am        F                         G
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head as a bottle of whiskey flew at him

   C                   Am              F                 G    C
It missed, and landing on the bed, the whiskey scattered over Tim

C                         Am     C                        Am
Tim revived, be damned he rises; Finnegan risin’ from the bed

       C                             Am                  F            G         C
Sayin’ Whirl yer whiskey around like blazes; thunder and Jesus, do ye think I’m dead

C                    Am                    F                    G
Wack fol the dol now dance to yer partner, welt the floor, your trotters shake

C             Am                    F              G          C
Wasn’t it the truth that I told ye: lots o’ fun at Finnegan’s wake