Whiskey On A Sunday
| Glyn Hughes |
|---|
| Oh, he sits at the corner of Beggar's Bush Astride of an old packing case And the dolls at the end of the plank were dancing As he crooned with a smile on his face Da-da-da-da Come day, go day Wish in me heart it was Sunday Da-da-da-da Drinkin' buttermilk all the week And it's whiskey on a Sunday His tired old hands from a wooden beam And the puppets they danced up and down A far better show than you ever will see In the fanciest theatre in town Da-da-da-da Come day, go day Wish in me heart it was Sunday Da-da-da-da Drinkin' buttermilk all the week And it's whiskey on a Sunday In nineteen-o-two old Seth Davy died His song it was heard no more The three dancing dolls in the dustbin were thrown And the plank went to mend the backdoor Da-da-da-da Come day, go day Wish in me heart it was Sunday Da-da-da-da Drinkin' buttermilk all the week And it's whiskey on a Sunday On some stormy night if you're passing that way When the wind's blowing up from the sea You may still hear the song of old Seth Davy As he croons to his dancing dolls three Da-da-da-da Come day, go day Wish in me heart it was Sunday Da-da-da-da Drinkin' buttermilk all the week And it's whiskey on a Sunday Da-da-da-da Drinkin' buttermilk all the week And it's whiskey on a Sunday This page has been viewed 6104 times |
| Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 13th December 2010 - 08:46 PM |
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