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O there were three men come out of the West, their fortunes for to try |
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And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die |
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They plowed, they sowed, they hoed him in, threw clods upon his head |
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And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was dead |
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They let him lie for a very long time until the rain from heaven did fall |
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But little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all |
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They let him stand 'til midsummer's day, until he looked so pale and wan |
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But little Sir John he grew a long beard and so became a man |
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They hired men with scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee |
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They rolled him up, tied him around the waist and served him barbarously |
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They hired men with strong pitchforks to pierce him through the heart |
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But the loader he served him worst than that for he bound him to the cart |
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They pulled him around and around in the fields 'til they came into the barn |
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Then these three men made a solemn vow on poor John Barleycorn |
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They hired men with crabtree sticks to slice him skin from bones, |
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but the miller served him worst of all for he ground him between two stones |
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It's a little Sir John in a nut brown bowl and a brandy in the glass |
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But little Sir John in the nut brown bowl proved the strongest man at last |
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For the hunter he can't hunt the fox nor loudly blow his horn |
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And the tinker he can't mend his pots without a little Sir Barleycorn |
