John Barleycorn

Let me tell a tale of my father's kin

For his blood runs through my veins

No man's been born that could best John Barleycorn

For he's suffered many pains

He's suffered many pains

We've buried him well beneath the ground

And they've covered over his head

And these men from the west did solemnly attest

John Barleycorn was dead

John Barleycorn was dead

But the warm spring rains came a-pouring down

And John Barleycorn arose

And upon that ground he stood without a sound

Till he began to grow

Till he began to grow

They've hired a man with a knife so sharp

For to cut him through the knees

And they've pitched Barleycorn and tied him down with thorn

And served him barbarously

They've served him barbarously

And they've hired some men with crabtree sticks

For to beat him high and low

And the skin on his back they then began to smack

Till the place began to blow

The place began to blow

And they've ground his bones in between two stones

And they've served him worse than that

For they've tossed him into an oaken mashing bin

And sealed him in a vat

They've sealed him in a vat

But John Barleycorn proved the stoutest man

Though they did all that they could

So raise up your horn and praise to Barleycorn

And we shall drink his blood

Yes, we shall drink his blood!