Michael Finnegan: There was an old man named Michael...
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Michael Finnegan:
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He grew whiskers on his chinnigin,
The wind came around and blew them in again,
Poor old Michael Finnegan,
begin again.
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He got drunk through drinking ginnigin,
Thus he wasted all his tinnigin,
Poor old Michael Finnegan,
begin again.
. . . He kicked up and awful din again,
Because they said he must not sin again, . . .
. . . He went fishing with a pin again,
Caught a fish and dropped it in again, . . .
. . . Climbed a tree and barked his shin again,
Took off several yards of skin again, . . .
. . . He grew fat and then grew thin again,
Then he died and had to begin again, . . .
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He grew whiskers on his chinnigin,
The wind came around and blew them in again,
Poor old Michael Finnegan,
begin again.
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He got drunk through drinking ginnigin,
Thus he wasted all his tinnigin,
Poor old Michael Finnegan,
begin again.
. . . He kicked up and awful din again,
Because they said he must not sin again, . . .
. . . He went fishing with a pin again,
Caught a fish and dropped it in again, . . .
. . . Climbed a tree and barked his shin again,
Took off several yards of skin again, . . .
. . . He grew fat and then grew thin again,
Then he died and had to begin again, . . .
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