John Barleycorn lyrics
by Traffic
There were three men came out of the West - their fortunes for to tryAnd these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must dieThey've plowed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in; threw clods upon his headAnd these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was deadThey've let him lie for a very long time 'til the rains from heaven did fallAnd little Sir John sprung up his head, and so amazed them allThey've let him stand 'til midsummer's day 'til he looked both pale and wanAnd little Sir John's grown a long, long beard, and so become a manThey've hired men with the scythes so sharp to cut him off at the kneeThey've rolled him and tied him by the way; serving him most barbarouslyThey've hired men with the sharp pitchforks who pricked him to the heartAnd the Loader he has served him worse than that, for he's bound him to the cartThey've wheeled him around and around the field 'til they came unto a barnAnd there they made a solemn oath on poor John BarleycornThey've hired men with the crab-tree sticks to cut him skin from boneAnd the Miller he has served him worse than that, for he's ground him between two stonesAnd little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl; and he's brandy in the glassAnd little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl proved the strongest man at lastThe Huntsman, he can't hunt the fox, nor so loudly to blow his hornAnd the Tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot without a little Barleycorn
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