John Barleycorn (Must Die)

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!

Well, they've ploughed,

They've sown, they've harrowed him in

Threw clouds upon his head

Till these three men were satisfied

John Barleycorn was dead

They've let him lie for a long long time

Till the rains from heaven did fall

And little sir John sprang up his head

And so amazed them all

They let him fly till the midsummer's day

Till he looked both pale and wan, oh

Then little Sir John has grown a long long beard

And so became a man

They have hired men with the scythes so sharp

To cut him off at the knee,

They rolled and they tied him around the waist

Serving him most him barbarously

They hired men with the sharp pitchforks

To prick him to the heart

And the loader he has served him worse than that

For he's bound him to the cart

Well, they've wheeled him 'round and 'round the field

Till they came onto a barn

And there they made their solemn oath

Concerning a Barleycorn

They hired men with the crab tree sticks

To split him skin from bone, yeah

But the miller he has served him worst and bad

For he ground him between two stones

Well there's beer all in the barrel

And brandy in the glass,

But little old sir John with his nut-brown bowl

Proved the strongest man at last

John Barleycorn, throw him up, throw him up!

Now the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox

Nor loudly blow his horn

And the tinker he can't mend his pots

Without John Barleycorn,

John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn

Barleycorn, Barleycorn

John Barleycorn, John Barleycorn