It being on the twenty-third of June-o
As I sat weaving all on my loom
I heard a thrush singing on yon bush
And the song she sang was a jug of punch
Ladderly fol the dee
Ladderly fol the dee deedle eedel dum
Dithery idle dum dithery idle deedle dum
Dithery idle dum dithery idle deedle dum
Dithery idle deedle eedle eedle dum dum dee
What more pleasure could a boy desire
Than to sit him down-o, beside the fire
And in his hand-o a jug of punch
Aye, and on his knee-o, a tidy wench
What more hardships could a boy desire
Than sit him down-o behind the door
And in his hand-o no jug of punch
Aye, and on his knee-o, no tidy wench
When I am dead, all my drinking's o'er
I'll drink one glass and I'll drink no more
For fear I mightn't get it on that day
I will drink it now and I'll drink away
When I am dead and left in my mould
At my head and feet place a flowing bowl
And every young man that passes by
He can have a drink and remember I
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VERSION2:'Twas early, early, in the month of June
I was sitting with my glass and spoon.
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch.
CHO: Toor-a-loora-la, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-la, toor-a-loora-lie
(repeat last two lines of verse)
If I were sick, and very bad
And were not able to go or stand,
I would not think it at all amiss
To pledge my shoes for a jug of punch.
What more diversion can a man desire
Than to sit him down by a snug turf fire,
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon his table a jug of punch.
And when I'm dead and in my grave
No costly tombstone will I have,
I'll dig a grave both wide and deep
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.
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