He stands at the corner of old Bevington Bush
Astride of an old packing case
And the dolls at the end of the board were dancing
As he crooned with a smile on his face:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Chorus
Come day, go day
Wish in me heart it was Sunday
Drinking buttermilk all the week,
And a whisky on a Sunday”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His tired old hands worked the wooden spoon
As the puppets they danced up and down
A far better show than you never will see
In the fanciest theatre in town<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In 1902 old Seth Davie died
His voice it was heard no more
The three dancing dolls in the dustbin were thrown
And the board went to mend a back door<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If your ever down by old Bevington bush\u00a0
With the wind howling in from the sea
You can still hear the voice of old Seth Davie
As he croons to his dancing dolls three<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He stands at the corner of old Bevington BushAstride of an old packing caseAnd the dolls at the end of the board were dancingAs he crooned with a smile on his face: ChorusCome day, go dayWish in me heart it was SundayDrinking buttermilk all the week,And a whisky on a Sunday” His tired old hands … <\/p>\n