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There were three men |
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Came from the west |
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Their fortunes for to tell, |
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And the life of John Barleycorn |
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As well. |
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They laid him in three furrows deep, |
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Laid clods upon his head, |
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Then these three man made a solemn vow |
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John Barleycorn was dead. |
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The let him die for a very long time |
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Till the rain from heaven did fall, |
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Then little Sir John sprang up his head |
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And he did amaze them all. |
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They let him stand till the midsummer day, |
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Till he looked both pale and wan. |
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The little Sir John he grew a long beard |
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And so became a man. |
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They have hired men with the scythes so sharp, |
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To cut him off at the knee, |
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The rolled him and they tied him around the waist, |
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They served him barbarously. |
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They have hired men with the crab-tree sticks, |
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To cut him skin from bone, |
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And the miller has served him worse than that, |
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For he's ground him between two stones. |
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They've wheeled him here, they've wheeled him there, |
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They've wheeled him to a barn, |
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And thy have served him worse than that, |
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They've bunged him in a vat. |
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They have worked their will on John Barleycorn |
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But he lived to tell the tale, |
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For they pour him out of an old brown jug |
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And they call him home brewed ale. |
