At a lovely Whitsunday
If I could I went
Walking with my daughter hand in hand there in the little park
Just strolling in the sun
Picking little daisy flowers
Feeding ducklings
Endlessly
Careful now, your dress gets wet
Your hands dirty
And dad angry

Daddy was a hero then
Daddy was the boss
Daddy was a mixture very clearly of Our Lord in Heaven
And of Sinterklaas
Do you fear the doggie
Doggie won't bite
Daddy says that he won't bite
At a lovely Whitsunday
With the little girl

When the girl is growing up
Rose is still a bud
You would like to say to all the grown up boys around her:
"Keep your hands off, go away"
Do you recognize that, sir
I sure do, sir
Most fathers would agree
At a lovely Whitsunday
She leaves you alone

She could be, out of the blue,
Pregnant any day
It could be the paper-hanger or a French performer guy
Or someone from The Hague
Father can be begging
Or be preaching
Till his hair is grey
Father says: "Be careful, child
This doggie bites"
She won't listen

Father is a hypocrite
And a loser, too
Father's only good to bring in money, nothing else
And all the rest is gibberish
I wish that I could once more
Walk together
With my daughter hand in hand
At a lovely Whitsunday
Care-free in the sun