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JOHN BARLEYCORN
    (traditional version)

There were three men came out of the West
Their fortunes for to find,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
'John Barleycorn must die'.
They've plowed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in
Through plods of barley's head,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
'John Barleycorn is dead'.
They let him lie for a very long time,
'Til the rains from heaven did fall,
And little Sir John sprung up his head
And so amazed them all.
They've let him stand until Mid-Summer's Day
'Til 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 the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They've rolled him and tied him by the way
Serving him most barbarously.
They've hired men with the sharpest hooks
Who've pricked him to the heart,
And the Loader, he has served him worse than that,
For he's bound him to the cart.
They've wheeled him around and around a field
'Til they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn oath
On poor John Barleycorn.
They've hired men with the crofting 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.
And little Sir John with the nut brown bowl,
And he's brandy in the glass,
And little Sir John with the nut brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last.
The huntsman he got off the fox
Oh so loudly to blow his horn,
And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pots
Without a little Barleycorn.



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