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 Dum-be-dum, be-day Dum-be-dum, dum-be-dum-be, deedle-a-dye Dee-dum-be, deedle-dum, deedle-a-day 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 Dum-be-dum, be-day Dum-be-dum, dum-be-dum-be, deedle-a-dye Dee-dum-be, deedle-dum, deedle-a-day 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 Dum-be-dum, be-day Dum-be-dum, dum-be-dum-be, deedle-a-dye Dee-dum-be, deedle-dum, deedle-a-day 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 Dum-be-dum, be-day Dum-be-dum, dum-be-dum-be, deedle-a-dye Dee-dum-be, deedle-dum, deedle-a-day