Jug Of Punch - Live

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
 (Last two lines of verse)
 What more diversion can a man desire
 Than to sit him down by an ale house fire
 Upon his knee a pretty wench
 Aye, and on the table a jug of punch
 Let the doctors come with all their art
 They'll make no impression upon my heart
 Even the cripple forgets his hunch
 When he's snug outside of a jug of punch
 Well if I get drunk sure the money's me own
 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
 And when I'm dead now 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