John Barleycorn Songtext
von Martin Carthy

Three men came out of the west
Their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Polycorn should die
They ploughed and they sowed and they herded him in
They throw′d clods on his head
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Polycorn was dead

They let him lie for a very long time
The rain dropped down the wall
And little Sir John, oh he raised up his head
And he soon amazed them all
They let him lie 'til the long midsummer
′Til he looked paler than wan
Little Sir John grew a long, long beard
And so became a man


They hired eight men with the scythes so sharp
They cut him off at the knee
And they rolled and they tied him around by the waist
Sang'd him boorishly
They hired eight men with the sharp pitchforks
They pierced him to the heart
The loader he served him far worse than that
For he piled him to the cart

They rode him around and around the field
They come down to the barn
There they made a solemn vow
Of little Sir John Polycorn
They hired eight men with the crab-tree sticks
They cut him skin from bone
But the miller he served him far worse than that
For he ground him between two stones

Here's little Sir John in the nut brown bowl
And brandy in the glass
Little Sir John in the nut brown bowl
Proved a stronger man at last
He unsmeared and he can′t hand the forks
Does not loudly blow his horn
The tinkering cartman, his kettles nor his pots
Belong to little Sir John Polycorn