Francis McPeake/Ewan MacColl      As I was sitting with a jug and spoon, one Sunday morning in the month of June.   A birdie sang in an ivy bunch and the song he sang was the jug of punch.      Chorus:   Tura lura lu, tura lura lu, tura lura lu, tura lura lu.      A birdie sang in an ivy bunch and the song he sang was the jug of punch.      What more diversion can a man desire than to court a girl by a cheerful fire?   A carey pippin to crack and crunch and on the table a jug of punch.      (Chorus)      A carey pippin to crack and crunch and on the table a jug of punch.      Ye mortal lords, drink your nectar wine and ye quality folk, sip your claret fine.   I'd give them all the grapes in the bunch for a jolly pull at my jug of punch.      (Chorus)      I'd give them all the grapes in the bunch for a jolly pull at my jug of punch.      Ye learned doctors, with all your art, cannot cure a depression on the heart.   But even a cripple forgets his hunch when he's snug outside of a jug of punch.      (Chorus)      But even a cripple forgets his hunch when he's snug outside of a jug of punch.      And when I'm dead and I'm in my grave, no costly tombstone do I ever crave.   Just lay me down in my native peat with a jug of punch at my head and feet.      (Chorus)      Just lay me down in my native peat with a jug of punch at my head and feet. (Ooo, Ooo)