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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Midi sequenced by Terry Stephens
Used with permission

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