Текст пісні
He sat on the corner of Baker and Bush
The stride of an old packing case
And the dolls on the end of a plank went dancing
As he crooned with a smile on his face
Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday
His tired old hand drummed out the beat
The puppet dolls they danced again
A better show than you ever will see
At the Tivoli or the New Brighton Pier
Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday
But in 1902 Seth Davey died
His songs were heard no more
The three dancing dolls in a dustbin they ended
The plank went to mend the back door
Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday
But one stormy night on Scotty Road Lane
The wind blowing up from the sea
You can still hear the song of old Seth Davey
As he croons to his dancing dolls three
Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday