John Barleycorn

There were three men came out of the West

Their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow

John Barleycorn must die.

They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in

Threw clods all upon his head

And these three men made a solemn vow

John barleycorn was Dead.

They let him stand for a very long time

Till the rains from heaven did fall

Then little Sir John's sprung up his head

And so amazed them all

They let him stand till the Midsummer Day

Till he grew both pale and wan

Then little Sir John's grew a great, long beard

And so become a man.

They hire'd men with scythes so sharp

To cut him off at the knee.

They bound him and tied him around the waist

Serving him most barb'rously.

They hire'd men with their sharp pitch-forks

To prick him to the heart

But the drover served him worse than that

For he's bound him to a cart.

They rolled him around and around the field

Till they came unto a barn

And these three men made a solemn mow

Of poor John Barleycorn

They hire'd men with crab-tree sticks

To strip him skin from bone

But the miller, served him worse than that,

For he's ground him between two stones.

Here's Little sir John in the nut-brown bowl

And brandy in the glass

But Little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl's

Proved the stronger man at last

For the hunts man he can't hunt the fox

Nor cheerily blow his horn

And the tinker, can't mend Kettle or pot

Without a little Barleycorn.