Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He had a brogue so rich and sweet,
and to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he’d a sort of a tipplin way,
with a love of the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day,
he’d a drop of the craythur every morn
Welcome to Finnegans Wake a wonderful Irish Ballad. On this sock the crathur is represented going up the leg by cables and over the cuff with lace, this is the whiskey spilling over the glass.