John Barleycorn

O three men they did come down from Kent
 To plough for wheat and rye
 And they made a vow and a solemn vow
 John Barleycorn should die
 O they ploughed him in the furrow deep
 Till the clods lay o'er his head
 And these three men were rejoicing then
 John Barleycorn was dead
 They left him for a week or so
 And a shower of rain did fall
 John Barleycorn sprang up again
 And he proved them liars all
 Then they hired men with sickles
 To cut him off at the knee
 And the worst of all they served Barleycorn
 They served him barbarously
 Then they hired men with pitchforks
 To pitch him onto the load
 And the worst of all they served Barleycorn
 They bound him down with cord
 Then they hired men with thrashels
 To beat him high and low
 They came smick-smack on poor Jack's back
 Till the flesh bled every blow
 O the next thing they put him in the malting kiln
 Thinking to dry his bones
 And the worst of all they served Barleycorn
 They crushed him between two stones
 Then they put him in the mashing tub
 Thinking to scold his tail
 And the next thing they called Barleycorn
 They called him home brewed ale
 So come put your wine into glasses
 Your cider in tin cans
 Put young Barleycorn in the old brown jug
 For he proves the strongest man