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The O'Neill Brothers Group
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Jug of Punch
One pleasant evening in the month of june
as I was sitting with my glass 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.
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
and the song he sang was the jug of punch
What more diversion can a man desire
Than to sit him down by an ale house fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
and on the table a jug of 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 of punch
And if I get drunk well the money's me own
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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
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay.
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 huggy tombstone will I have
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.
Lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet
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