Jug Of Punch

Collection of Irish Song Lyrics

Great grooves on this, and the percussive sanskrit vocalisations remind me of celtic mouth music somehow Parallelograms by Linda Perhacs. One of my all-time favs, I am still planning to do a cover of parallelograms sometime If you like Brona McVittie, you may also like:. Undersong by Salt House. These three musicians play so well together. I love the blend of the two voices and the instruments. The songwriting is also exceptional.

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Inside Under - EP by Baeilou. All Of This by Perera Elsewhere. A brief song, it opens politely and proceeds on a rapid downhill slide into maudlin defiance, resembling a gent with sprigged waistcoat and churchwardens pipe striving to shore up his dignity while the world is slipping out of focus and into a happy haze. This recording was included in on his Topic anthology The Road from Connemara.

Irish Song Lyrics - 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 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.

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.

Play recording: Jug of Punch, The

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. 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. It bein' on the twenty-third of June As I sat weaving all at my loom, It bein' on the twenty-third of June As I sat weaving all on my loom, A wee bird sat on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch.

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It being on the third of June As I sat weaving all by my loom, It being on the third of June As I sat weaving all by my loom, A birdie sang on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was a jug of punch. Chorus after each verse: Ladly-fol-da-dee, ladly-fol-da-diddley-I-da-diddle-dum Skiddery-I-da-diddle-dum, skiddery-I-da-diddle-iddle-um-dum-dee. What more diversion can a boy endure Than to sit him down, oh, behind the door, What more diversion can a boy endure Than to sit him down, oh, behind the door And on his knee a tidy wench, Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.