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