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Clark Jones
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John Barleycorn
There was three men come out of the west
Their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn should die
They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in
Throw'd clods upon his head
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn was dead
Then they let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from the heaven did fall
Then little Sir John sprung up his head
And soon amazed them all
They let him stand till midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan
And little Sir John, he grow'd a long beard
And so became a man
They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee
They rolled him and tied him by the waist
And served him most barbarously
They hired men with sharp pitchforks
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Who pricked him to the heart
But the loader, he serve him worse than that
For he bound him to the cart
They wheeled him round and round the field
Till they came unto a barn
And there they made a solemn vow
Of poor John Barleycorn
They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone
And the miller, he served him worse than that
For he ground him between two stones
Here's little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl
And brandy in a glass
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last
And 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 or Barleycorn
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