There were 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 Threw clods all upon his head And these three men made a solemn vow John barleycorn was Dead.
They let him stand for a very long time Till the rains from heaven did fall Then little Sir John's sprung up his head And so amazed them all They let him stand till the Midsummer Day Till he grew both pale and wan Then little Sir John's grew a great, long beard And so become a man.
They hire'd men with scythes so sharp To cut him off at the knee. They bound him and tied him around the waist Serving him most barb'rously. They hire'd men with their sharp pitch-forks To prick him to the heart But the drover served him worse than that For he's bound him to a cart.
They rolled him around and around the field Till they came unto a barn And these three men made a solemn mow Of poor John Barleycorn They hire'd men with crab-tree sticks To strip him skin from bone But the miller, 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 hunts man he can't hunt the fox Nor cheerily blow his horn And the tinker, can't mend Kettle or pot Without a little Barleycorn.