One evening in the month of June.
As I was sitting with jug and spoon.
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch.
And the song he sang was "The Jug of Punch."
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
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 court in bed by a big turf fire.
Upon his knees be a pretty wench.
And upon the table a jug of punch.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Upon his knees be a pretty wench.
And upon the table a jug of punch.
When I get drunk, the money's my own.
And if men 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.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
I'll tune my fiddle and I'll rosin my bow.
And I'll be welcome wherever I go.
When I'm dead and in my grave.
No costly tombstone will I have.
Just lay me down in me native peat.
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Just lay me down in me native peat.
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Just lay me down in me native peat.
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.