John Barleycorn

Oh, there were three men came out of the West

Their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow

John Barleycorn should die

They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in

Stuck bugs all on his head

Then these three men made a solemn vow

John Barleycorn was dead

They let him lie for a very long time

'Til the rain from heaven did fall

Then little Sir John, he raised up his head

And he soon amazed them all

They let him lie 'til the long midsummer

'Til he looked both pale and wan

Then little Sir John growed a long, long beard

And so became a man

They hired men with their scythe so sharp

To cut him off down by the knee

They rode him and tied him around by the waist

Served him most barbarously

They hired men with their short pitchforks

Who pierced him to their heart

But the loader he served him far worse than that

For he bound him to the cart

They rode him around and around the field

'Til they came into a barn

And there they made a solemn vow

For poor John Barleycorn

They hired men with their crab-tree sticks

Who cut him skin from bone

But the miller he served him far worse than that

For he ground him between two stones

Here's little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl

And brandy in the glass

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl

Grew the stronger man at last

For the hunter, he can't hunt the fox

Nor so loudly blow his horn

And the tinker, he can't mend his kettles or his cogs

Without a little bit of John Barleycorn