Jug o’ Punch (traditional)

As I was sitting here with jug and spoon On one fine morn in the month of June A small bird sat on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was the jug o' punch

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay A small bird sat on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was the jug o' punch

What more diversion can a man desire Than to sit himself by a snug turf fire Upon his knee a pretty wench And on the table a jug o' punch

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay Upon his knee a pretty wench And on the table a jug o' punch

The learned doctors with all their art Cannot cure the impression that’s upon my heart But I’ll be all right, I have a hunch When I’m snug outside of a jug o' punch

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay But I’ll be all right, I have a hunch When I’m snug outside of a jug o' punch

And if I get drunk, well the money's me own And them don't like me they can póg mo thóin I'll tune me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow And I'll be welcome wherever I go

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay I'll tune me fiddle and I'll rosin me 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

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

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