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.



(Chorus)



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.



(Chorus)



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.



(Chorus)



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.



(Chorus)



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