> A.L. Lloyd > Songs > A Jug of Punch
> Martin Carthy > Songs > Jug of Punch

A Jug of Punch

[ Roud 1808 ; Henry H490 ; Ballad Index K278 ; Bodleian Roud 1808 ; trad.]

A.L. Lloyd sang A Jug of Punch in 1956 on the Riverside album English Drinking Songs. He wrote in the sleeve notes:

This is probably an Irish importation, brought to East Anglia by migrant potato-lifters. A brief song, it opens politely and proceeds on a rapid downhill slide into maudlin defiance, resembling a gent with sprigged waistcoast and churchwardens pipe striving to shore up his dignity while the world is slipping out of focus and into a happy haze.

And Martin Carthy and chorus sang Jug of Punch in a much happier tone on Songs from ABC Television's “Hallelujah”.

Lyrics

A.L. Lloyd sings A Jug of Punch Martin Carthy sings Jug of Punch

As I was sitting with my glass and spoon
One summer evening in the month of June;
𝄆 The small birds sat on an ivy bunch
And the song they sang was the Jug of Punch. 𝄇

As I was sitting with my jug and spoon
On one fine morn in the month of June;
A birdie sang on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch.
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
A birdie sang on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch.

What more diversion could a man require
Than to settle down by the ale-house fire,
𝄆 With a fine red pippin to crack and crunch,
And on the table a jug of punch. 𝄇

What more diversion could a man desire
Than to sit him down by a neat turf fire,
A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.

Let the doctors come with all their arts
They'll make no impression upon my heart
𝄆 Even the cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch. 𝄇

The learned doctor with all his art
Cannot cure the impression that's on the heart.
Even the cripple forgets his hunch
When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Even the cripple forgets his hunch
When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.

If I drink too much, well, my money's my own,
And them as don't like it can leave me alone;
𝄆 But I'll tune my fiddle and I'll rosin my bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go. 𝄇

Too-ra-loo-ra-lay, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
And if I get drunk well that's nothing to you
𝄆 Oh my jug of punch and my jug of punch
This song I'm singing is the Jug of Punch. 𝄇

And when I'm dead and I'm 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-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo,
Just lay me down in my native peat,
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.