Name: Jug of Punch
Channel: words and music traditional
Description: License options are available for this song. A jug was and still is the best for drinking punch out of. As they say, the water and the spirits mix better. This version even includes a rendition of Beethovan's 'Ode to Joy'. Yea, Beethovan was Irish on his mother's side.

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A jug was and still is the best for drinking punch out of. As they say, the water and the spirits mix better. This version even includes a rendition of Beethovan's 'Ode to Joy'. Yea, Beethovan was Irish on his mother's side.

mandolin autoharp recorde

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Brobdingnagian Bards

The Original Celtic Renaissance duo from Austin, TX! Called Masters of Traditional Folk by The Austin Chronicle, Marc Gunn and Andrew McKee join the autoharp, r

We are the Brobdingnagian Bards (pronounced brAHb'ding-näg-EE-en). We perform a unique style of Celtic folk music that we like to call "a Renaissance in Celtic music" or "The Original Celtic Renaissance. Ask our fans though, and they'll tell you our music is just plain "fun!" With six studio albums completed in just five years, combined with ten other compilations, singles and EPs, we've been called one of the most-productive Celtic groups around. But we just love playing the music.

Song Info

Genre

World • Traditional Irish

Peak in subgenre #1

Author

words and music traditional

Rights

Gunn-McKee

Uploaded

January 26, 2006

Track Files

MP3

MP3 3.0 MB • 128 kbps • 3:17

Lyrics

One evening in the month of June
As I was sitting in my room
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
    A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
    And the song he sang was "The Jug Of Punch." 

What more diversion can a man desire?
Than to sit him down by an alehouse fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon the table a jug of punch.

    Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
    too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
    Upon his knee a pretty wench
    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 a cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch.

    Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
    T too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
    Even a cripple forgets his hunch
    When he's snug outside of a jug of punch.

And if I get drunk, well, me money's me own
And them don't like me they can leave me alone
I'll chune me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go.

    Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
    T oo ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
    I'll chune me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
    And I'll be welcome wherever I go.

And when I'm dead 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.

    Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
    Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
    Just lay me down in my native peat
    With a jug of punch at my head and feet.

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