Seth Davy Songtext
von Max Boyce

He sat on the corner of Baker and Bush
The stride of an old packing case
And the dolls on the end of a plank went dancing
As he crooned with a smile on his face

Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday

His tired old hand drummed out the beat
The puppet dolls they danced again
A better show than you ever will see
At the Tivoli or the New Brighton Pier


Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday

But in 1902 Seth Davey died
His songs were heard no more
The three dancing dolls in a dustbin they ended
The plank went to mend the back door

Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday

But one stormy night on Scotty Road Lane
The wind blowing up from the sea
You can still hear the song of old Seth Davey
As he croons to his dancing dolls three


Come day, go day
Wishing me hard for Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week
Whiskey on a Sunday