Tim Van Eyken Barleycorn Lyrics

Well there came three men from out of Kent
For to plough for wheat and rye
And they made a vow and a solemn vow
John Barleycorn must die

So they ploughed him deep in the furrow
And they sowed rye over his head
And these three men home rejoicing went
John Barleycorn was dead

But the sun shone warm and the wind blew soft
And it rained in a day or so
And Barleycorn felt the wind and rain
And he soon began to grow

But the rye began to grow as well
And the rye grew quickly tall
But Barleycorn grew short and stout
And he so amazed them all

So they hired men with sickles
To cut him off at the knee
And worse than that John Barleycorn
They served him barbarously

For they hired men with pickles
To toss him on to a load
And when they'd tossed John Barleycorn
They tied him down with chords

And they hired men with threshels
To beat him high and low
They came smick smack on poor Jack's back
'til the flesh began to flow

And they put him in to the kiln boys
Thinking to dry his bones
And when he came out John Barleycorn
Was crushed between two stones

And they put him in to the mashing tubs
Thinking to burn his tail
And when he came out John Barleycorn
They called him home-brewed ale

Put your wine in to glasses
And your cider in to pewter cans
Put Barleycorn in the old brown jug
For he's proved the strongest man

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