Nor so loudly to blow his horn
To cut him skin from bone
And little Sir John sprung up his head
For he's ground him between two stones
Till they came unto a barn
Who pricked him to the heart
And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pot
Serving him most barbarously
Till the rains from heaven did fall
John Barleycorn must die
They've ploughed, they've sewn, they've harrowed him in
They've let him lie for a very long time
Till he looked both pale and wan
And there they made a solemn oath
To cut him off at the knee
They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks
And so amazed them all
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl
And so become a man
Proved the strongest man at last
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl
On poor John Barleycorn
The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox
John Barleycorn was dead
They've let him stand till midsummer's day
And these three men made a solemn vow
And he's brandy in the glass
They've hired men with the scythes so sharp
Threw clouds upon his head
And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard
They've rolled him and tied him by the way
And these three men made a solemn vow
For he's bound him to the cart
They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks
They've wheeled him around and around the field
And the miller he has served him worse than that
And the loader he has served him worse than that
