Whiskey On A Sunday

He sits on the corner of Bebbington 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 (walk-down 3 frets)

Come day go day

Wishing in me heart it was Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

Whiskey on a Sunday

His tired old hands tugged away at the strings

And the puppets they danced up and down

A far better show than you ever would see

In the fanciest theatre in town

But in 1902 old Seth Daly 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

But 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 Daly

As he croons to his dancing dolls three