Ballad of Seth Davy / Whiskey on a Sunday

He sat on the corner of Bevington Bush,
Astride an old packing case;
And the dolls at the end of the plank went dancing,
As he crooned with a smile on his face:

La, la, la, la.... Come day, go day,
Wish in me heart for Sunday;
La, la, la, la.... Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And it's whisky on a Sunday.

His tired old hands drummed the wooden beam,
And the puppets they danced t' gear;
A far better show then you ever would see,
At the Pivvy or New Brighton Pier.

La, la, la, la.... Come day, go day,
Wish in me heart for Sunday;
La, la, la, la.... Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And it's whisky on a Sunday.

But in 1902, old Seth Davy died,
His song it was heard no more;
The three dancing dolls in a jowler-bin ended,
The plank went to mend a back door.

La, la, la, la.... Come day, go day,
Wish in me heart for Sunday;
La, la, la, la.... Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And it's whisky on a Sunday.

But on some stormy nights, down Scotty Road way,
With the wind blowing in from the sea,
You can still hear the song of old Seth Davy,
As he crooned to his dancing dolls three:

La, la, la, la.... Come day, go day,
Wish in me heart for Sunday;
La, la, la, la.... Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And it's whisky on a Sunday.
La, la, la, la.... Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And it's whisky on a Sunday.

Bevington bush was a pub on Scotland Road (Scotty Rd)