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 Fairport convention Fairport conventionбританская фолк-роковая команда

John Barleycorn

There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn would die

They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed, thrown clods upon his head

Till these three men were satisfied John Barleycorn was dead


There's beer all in the barrel and brandy in the glass

But little Sir John, with his nut-brown bowl, proved the strongest man at last

They've let him lie for a long long time till the rains from heaven did fall

And little Sir John sprang up his head and so amazed them all

They've let him stand till midsummer's day and he looks both pale and wan

Then little Sir John's grown a long long beard and so become a man



They've hired men with the sharp-edged scythes to cut him off at the knee

They've rolled him and tied him around the waist, treated him most barbarously

They've hired men with the sharp-edged forks to prick him to the heart

And the loader has served him worse than that for he's bound him to the cart

So they've wheeled him around and around the field till they've come unto a barn

And here they've kept their solemn word concerning Barleycorn

They've hired men with the crabtree sticks to split him skin from bone

And the miller has served him worse than that for he's ground him between two stones



And the huntsman he can't hunt the fox nor loudly blow his horn

And the tinker he can't mend his pots without John Barleycorn

Fairport convention

John Barleycorn / Fairport convention

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