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Being on the twenty-third of June Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom Being on the twenty-third of June Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom I heard a thrush singing on yon bush And the song she sang was the jug of punch What more pleasure can a boy desire Than sitting down, oh beside the fire What more pleasure can a boy desire Than sitting down, oh beside the fire And in his hand, oh a jug of punch And on his knee a tidy wench When I am dead and left in my mold At my head and feet place a flowing bowl When I am dead and left in my mold At my head and feet place a flowing bowl And every young man that passes by He can have a drink and remember I Being on the twenty-third of June Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom Being on the twenty-third of June Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom I heard a thrush singing on yon bush And the song she sang was the jug of punch Aus Songtexte Mania