John Barleycorn

There were three men came from the West

Their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow:

John Barleycorn must die

They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in

Threw clods upon his head

And these three men made a solemn vow:

John Barleycorn was dead

They've let him lie for a very long time

Till the rains from heaven did fall

And little Sir John sprung up his head

And so amazed them all

They've let him stand till midsummer's day

Till he looked both pale and wan

And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard

And so become a man

They've hired men with the scythes so sharp

To cut him off at the knee

They've rolled him and tied him by the way

Serving him most barbarously

They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks

Who pricked him to the heart

And the loader he has served him worse than that

For he's bound him to the cart

They've wheeled him around and around the field

Till they came unto a barn

And there they made a solemn oath

On poor John Barleycorn

They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks

To cut him skin from bone

And the miller he has served him worse than that

For he's ground him between two stones

And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl

And he's brandy in the glass;

And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl

Proved the strongest man at last

The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox

Nor so loudly to blow his horn

And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot

Without a little Barleycorn