The Dubliners - Jug Of Punch

Jug Of Punch

'Twas early, early, in the month of June
I was sitting with my glass and spoon.
A small Bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the son ghe sang
Was a jug of punch.

Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
A small Bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang
Was a jug of punch.

If I were sick, and very bad
And were not able to go or stand,
I would not think it at all amiss
To a pledge my shoes
For a jug of punch.

Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
I would not think it at all amiss
To a pledge my shoes
For a jug of punch.

What more diversion can a man desire
Than to sit him down by a snug turf Fire,
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon his table a jug of punch.

Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon his table a jug of punch.

And when I'm dead and in my grave
No costly tombstone will I have,
I'll dig a grave both wide and Deep
With a jug of punch
At my head and feet.

Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-lou, toor-a-loora-lie
I'll dig a grave both wide and Deep
With a jug of punch
At my head and feet.