There were three men come 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 on his head
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn was dead.

They let him lie for a very long time
Till the rains from heaven did fall
Then little Sir John sprung up his head
And so amazed them all
They let him lie till Midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan
Then little Sir John he grew a long beard
And so become a man.

They hired men with their scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee.
They've bound him and tied him around the waist
Served him most barb'rously.
They hired men with their sharp pitch-forks
To prick him to the heart
But the drover he served him worse than that
For he's bound him to a cart.

They've rolled him around and around the field
Till they came unto a barn
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn
They've hired men with their crab-tree sticks
To strip him skin from bone
But the miller, he 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
The strongest man at last
For the huntsman he can't hunt the fox
Nor so loudly blow his horn
And the tinker, he can't mend kettles or pots
Without a little Barleycorn.