The Ballad of John
Barleycorn
There was three men came out of the West
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn must die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in
Throwing clods all on his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.
They've left him in the ground for a very long time
'Til the rains from heaven did fall,
Then little Sir John's sprung up his head
And so amazed them all.
They've left him in the ground 'til the Midsummer
'Til he's grown both pale and wan,
Then little Sir John's grown a long, long beard
And so become a man.
They hired men with their scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They've bound him and tied him around the waist
Serving him most barb'rously.
They hired men with their sharp pitch-forks
To prick him to the heart,
But the drover he served him worse than that
For he's bound him to the cart.
They've rolled him around and around the field
'Til they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
Of Little Sir John Barleycorn.
They've hired men with their crab-tree sticks
To strip him skin from bone,
But the miller, he's served him worse than that
For he's ground him between two stones.
Here's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
And brandy in the glass,
But little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl's
Proved the stronger man at last.
For the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox
Nor so loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker, he can't mend kettles or pots
Without a little of Sir John Barleycorn.
Traditional |