Mo,Dan, Thanks a lot, this is enough to spring open the locked doors in my memory.
Whisky on a Sunday (as I remember it, Liverpool variant)
He sat on the corner of Bevington Bush
Astride an old packing case.
And the dolls on the end of the plank went dancing
As he crooned with a smile on his face:
Come day, Go day,
Wishing me heart for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whisky on a Sunday.
His tired old hands drummed the wooden beam
And the puppet-dolls they danced the gear.
A better show than you had ever seen
At the Pivvy or New Brighton Pier.
Well in 1902 Seth Davy died
And his song was heard no more.
The three dancing dolls in a jower bin ended
And the plank went to mend a back door.
If you ever go down xxx xxx way, *
When the wind whistles up from the sea,
You can still hear the voice of old Seth Davy
As he croons to his dancing dolls three.
* still can't remember this bit!