LYRICS

One day I went out walking when the light was leaving the sky

When this guy grabbed a hold of my collar with a real demented look in his eye

Well I could see he didn’t want to make small talk

With a guy like that neither did I

All my fears were completely allayed when on my shoulder he began to cry

CHORUS:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are greY

Won’t you please give me a little something just to take withdrawing pains away    

WelL I told him I couldn’t help him, I really wasn’t his man

So to avoid a fight with the speed of light straight off down the street I ran

Well I ran til I was exhausted then down on the pavement I sat

Then along came a man with a brolly in his hand, on his head was a bowler hat

CHORUS:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

I’ve lost some money, hard times ain’t funny

So please don’t take my moonshine away

_______

Trad. Lyrics P. Stirton © 1968

Recorded on Phillips cassette recorder 1968

Lead vocal: D. Wharton

Guitars: D. Hume, S. Rosie

Jug; J. Robertson

Kazoo: P. Stirton

Backing Vocals: all of the above and J. Stirton

It was one of those evenings when the light drains slowly from the sky, taking the warmth with it. The streetlights hadn’t flickered on yet, and the air smelled of rain and cigarettes. I was just walking—no particular place to go—trying to clear my head when I felt a hand grab my collar.

He was a rough-looking guy, eyes wild and hollow like he’d seen too much too fast. His grip was iron, but it wasn’t anger that held me—it was desperation. Before I could say a word, his face twisted, and he began to cry right there on my shoulder. Big, heaving sobs that didn’t belong in public.

Then, out of nowhere, between his tears, he croaked a few words that chilled me:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”

The tune was broken, slurred—but it carried something human in it, something from better days. And then he said, “Won’t you please give me a little something… just to take withdrawing pains away.”

That’s when I understood. The guy wasn’t after my wallet—he was after mercy. The kind that comes in powder or pills.

I told him I couldn’t help him, that I wasn’t his man. He began to get aggressive so I tore away and ran—faster than I’d moved in years. I didn’t stop until the city blurred and my lungs felt like fire.

When I finally slumped onto the pavement the world spun slow again. The sun was gone, and the streetlights took THEIR nightly place. That’s when I saw another man coming up the road—neat as a banker, bowler hat perched perfectly, umbrella tapping the ground like a metronome.

He stopped beside me and looked down with a smile too polite to trust. “Long night?” he asked.

Before I could answer, he tipped his hat and sang softly, almost to himself:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”

Then, with a wink, he added, “I’ve lost some money, hard times ain’t funny. So please don’t take my moonshine away.”

He pulled a silver flask from his coat, took a sip, and offered me the rest. I shook my head. He shrugged and walked on, his laughter echoing down the alley.

I sat there a while longer, listening to the hum of the city. Somewhere between the sad addict and the laughing drunk, I realised something strange—they both sang the same song. Different verses, same plea. 

The night closed in around me, and I hummed a few bars myself, so quiet, enough that only the wind could hear:

“You make me happy when skies are grey...”

And for many it still does.