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Oh there were three men came out of the west |
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Their fortunes for to try, |
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And these three men made a solemn vow: |
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John Barleycorn should die. |
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They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, |
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Throwed clods upon his head. |
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Then these three men made a solemn vow: |
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John Barleycorn was dead. |
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They let him lie for a very long time |
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Till the rain from heaven did fall. |
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Then little Sir John he raised up his head |
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And he soon amazed them all. |
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They let him lie till the long midsummer |
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Till he looked both pale and wan. |
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Then little Sir John growed a long, long beard |
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And so became a man. |
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They hired men with the scythes so sharp |
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To cut him off down by the knee. |
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They rolled him and tied him around by the waist, |
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Served him most barbarously. |
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They hired men with the sharp pitchforks |
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Who pierced him to the heart. |
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But the loader, he served him far worse than that |
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For he bound him to the cart. |
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They rode him around and around the field |
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Till they came into a barn, |
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And there they made a solemn mow |
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Of poor John Barleycorn. |
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They hired men with the crab-tree sticks |
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Who cut him skin from bone |
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But the miller, he served him far worse than that |
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For he ground him between two stones. |
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Here's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl |
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And brandy in a glass. |
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And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl |
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Proved the stronger man at last. |
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For the hunter, he can't hunt the fox |
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Nor so loudly blow his horn, |
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And the tinker, he can't mend his kettles or his pots |
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Without a little bit of John Barleycorn. |
