Martin Carthy John Barleycorn
There were three men come from the West
Their fortunes for to try
And these three men a solemn vow:
"John Barleycorn must die."
They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in
Threw clods upon his head
And these three men were made a solem vow
John Barleycorn was dead
They let him lie for a very long time
'Til the rains from heaven did fall
When little Sir John raised up his head
And so amazed them all
They let him stand 'til Mid-Summer's Day
When he looked both pale and wan;
Then little Sir John grew a long, long beard
And so became a man
They hired men with their scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee;
They rolled him and tied him around the waist
And served him barbarously
They hired men with their sharp pitchforks
To pierce him to the heart
But the loader did serve him worse than that
For he bound him to the cart
They wheeled him 'round and around the field
'Til they came unto a barn
And there they took a solemn oath
On poor John Barleycorn
They hired men with their crab-tree sticks
To split him skin from bone
But the miller did serve him worse than that
For he ground him between two stones
There's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
And there's brandy in the glass
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last
The huntsman cannot hunt the fox
Nor loudly blow his horn
And the tinker cannot mend his pots
Without John Barleycorn
