"The Jug Of Punch" Sangtekst

Written By: Francis McPeake/Ewan MacColl

As I was sitting with a jug and spoon,
one Sunday morning in the month of June.
A birdie sang in an ivy bunch
and the song he sang was the jug of punch.

Chorus:

Tura lura lu, tura lura lu, tura lura lu, tura lura lu.
A birdie sang in 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 cheerful fire?
A carey pippin to crack and crunch
and on the table a jug of punch.

A carey pippin to crack and crunch
and on the table a jug of punch.
Ye mortal lords, drink your nectar wine
and ye quality folk, sip your claret fine.
I'd give them all the grapes in the bunch
for a jolly pull at my jug of punch.

I'd give them all the grapes in the bunch
for a jolly pull at my jug of punch.
Ye learned doctors, with all your art,
cannot cure a depression on the heart.
But even a cripple forgets his hunch
when he's snug outside of a jug of punch.

But even a cripple forgets his hunch
when he's snug outside of a jug of punch
And when I'm dead and I'm in my grave,
no costly tombstone do I ever crave.
Just lay me down in my native peat
with a jug of punch at my head and feet.

Just lay me down in my native peat
with a jug of punch at my head and feet. (Ooo, Ooo)