The Dubliners - Whiskey on Sunday lyrics

Come day, go day Wish in me heart it were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday He sits in 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 And he croons with a smile on his face Come day, go day Wish in me heart it were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday His tired old hands tug away at the strings And the puppets 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 were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday And sad to relate that old Seth Davy died in 1904 The three wooden dolls in the dustbin were laid His song will be heard nevermore Come day, go day Wish in me heart it were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday But some stormy night when you're pa**ing 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 were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday Come day, go day Wish in me heart it were Sunday Drinking bu*termilk through the week Whiskey on a Sunday