Whiskey On A Sunday - The Dubliners

He sits at the corner of Begger’s Bush

Astride of an old packing crate

And the dolls at the end of the plank were dancing

He sits at the corner of Begger’s Bush

Astride of an old packing crate

And the dolls at the end of the plank were dancing

As he crooned with a smile on his face:

«La da da…

Come day, go day

Wish in me heart it was Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

And a whiskey on a Sunday»

His tired old hands worked the wooden beam

As the puppets they danced up and down

A far better show than you ever will see

In the fanciest theatre in town

La da da…

Come day, go day

Wish in me heart it was Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

And a whiskey on a Sunday

In 1902 old Seth Davie died

His song it was heard no more

The three dancing dolls in the dustbin were thrown

And the plank went to mend a back door

On some stormy night if you’re passing that way

With the wind blowing up from the sea

You can still hear the song of old Seth Davie

As he croons to his dancing dolls three

La da da…

Come day, go day

Wish in me heart it was Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

And a whiskey on a Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

And a whiskey on a Sunday