Whiskey On A Sunday Lyrics

Whiskey On A Sunday

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday

He sits on the corner of old Beggar's Bush
On top of an old packing crate
He has three wooden dolls that can dance and can sing
As he croons with a smile on his face

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday

His tired old hands tug away at the strings
And the puppets the dance up and down
A far better show than you ever would see
In the fanciest theatre in town

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday

And sad to relate that old Seth Davy died
In nineteen hundred and four
The three wooden dolls in the dustbin were laid
His songs will be heard nevermore

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday

But some stormy night when you're passing that way
And the wind's blowing up from the sea
You'll still hear the song of old Seth Davy
As he croons to his dancing dolls three

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday

Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk through the week,
Whiskey on a Sunday