He sits on the corner of Beggars Bush

Astride of an old packing case

And the dolls at the end

of the plank were dancing

As he crooned with a smile on his face



Come day go day

Whishing in me heart it was Sunday

Drinking buttermilk all the week

Whiskey on a Sunday



His tired old hands from the wooden beam

And the puppets they danced up and down

A far better show than you ever would see

In the fanciest theatre in town



But in 1902 old Seth Daly died

His song it was heard no more

The three dancing dolls

in the dustbin were thrown

And the plank went to mend the backdoor



But on some stormy night

if you´re passing that way

With the wind blowing up from the sea

You can still hear the song

of old Seth Daly

As he croons to his dancing dolls three