Irish Rovers

Come day go day, I wish in my heart it was Sunday Drinkin' buttermilk through the week and whiskey on a Sunday He sits on the corner by ould beggar's bush atop of an ould packing crate He's got three wooden dolls who can dance and can sing And he sits with a smile on his face Come day go day, I wish in my heart it was Sunday Drinkin' buttermilk through the week and whiskey on a Sunday His tired ould hands tug away on the strings, the puppets they dance up and down It's a far better show than you ever will see In the fanciest theatre in town Come day go day, I wish in my heart it was Sunday Drinkin' buttermilk through the week and whiskey on a Sunday I'm sad to relate that ould Sad Davie died in nineteen hundred and four His three wooden dolls in the dustbin are laid Their songs will be heard never more Come day go day, I wish in my heart it was Sunday Drinkin' buttermilk through the week and whiskey on a Sunday Some dark stormy night should your passin' that way and the winds blowin' up from the sea you can still hear the voice of ould Sad Davie As he sings to his dancin' dolls three CHORUS Come day go day, I wish in my heart it was Sunday Drinkin' buttermilk through the week and whiskey on a Sunday