The Jug of Punch

As I was sitting, aye, with jug and spoon
On one fine morn in the month of June,
A birdie sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was the jug of punch.

Chorus:
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 A birdie sat on an ivy bunch
 And the song he sang was the jug of punch.


What more diversion can a man desire
Than to court a girl by a neat turf fire
A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.

Chorus:
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
 Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.


You learned doctors, with all your art,
Cannot cure depression that's on the heart,
But even the cripple forgets his hunch
When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.

Chorus:
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 But even the cripple forgets his hunch
 When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.


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

Chorus:
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
 Just lay me down in me native peat,
 With a jug of punch at my head and feet.