Jug of Punch


One pleasant evening in the month of June
As I was sitting with my jug and spoon
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was the jug of punch

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay
(Last two lines of verse)

What more diversion can a man desire
Than to sit himself by an ale house fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
Aye, and on the table a jug of punch

Let the doctors come with all their art
They cant cure a depression in my heart
Even the cripple forgets his hunch
When he’s snug outside of a jug of punch

And if I get drunk, sure the money’s me own
And them don’t like me they can leave me alone
I’ll tune my fiddle and I’ll rosin my bow
And I’ll be welcome wherever I go

And when I’m dead and in my grave
No costly tombstone will I crave
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet

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