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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 must die |
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They've plowed, they've sown |
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they've harrowed him in |
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Threw clods upon his head |
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And these three men made a solemn vow |
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John Barleycorn was dead |
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They've let him lie for a very long time |
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'til the rains from heaven did fall |
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And little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all |
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They've let him stand 'til Midsummer's Day |
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'til he looked both pale and wan |
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And little Sir John's grown a long long beard and so become a man |
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They've hired men with their scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee |
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They've rolled him and tied him by the way |
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serving him most barbarously |
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They've hired men with their sharp pitchforks who've pricked him to the heart |
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And the loader he has served him worse than that |
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For he's bound him to the cart |
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They've wheeled him around and around a field 'til they came onto a pond |
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And there they made a solemn oath on poor John Barleycorn |
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They've hired men with their crabtree sticks to cut him skin from bone |
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And the miller he has served him worse than that |
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For he's ground him between two stones |
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And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl and his brandy in the glass |
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And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl proved the strongest man at last |
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The huntsman he can't hunt the fox nor so loudly to blow his horn |
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And the tinker he can't mend kettle or pots without a little barleycorn |
