John Barleycorn Songtext
von The Watersons

There were 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′ve ploughed, they've sown
They′ve harrowed him in
Throwed clods upon his head
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn was dead

They've let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall
Then little Sir John sprung up his head
And soon amazed them all
They'd let him stand till Midsummer Day
Till he looked both pale and wan
And little Sir John′s grown a long, long beard
And so become a man


They′ve hired men with their scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee
They've rolled him and tied him by the waist
Serving him most barbarously
They′ve hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him till the heart
And the loader, he served him worse than that
For he's bound him to the cart
They wheeled him round and around the field
Till they came unto the barn
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn
They′ve hired men with the crabtree sticks
To cut him skin from bone
And the miller he has served him worse than that
For he's ground him between two stones

Here′s little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
And here's brandy in the glass
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Has proved the strongest man at last
For the huntsman he can't hunt the fox
Nor so loudly to blow his horn
And the tinker he can′t mend kettles nor pots
Without a little Barleycorn