Sing Barleycorn, in the dead of night,
In blood and sweat and toil.
The broken backed men they buried them then.
Deep within the soil.
Sing next Spring, and up jumps John,
Standing strong and tall,
Saying, ‘Fight to be free? They'll never kill me.
I'll see you in the Fall.’
Sing rankled men, and cut me down,
Thrash and flay my skin
And roast and crush and squeeze my must.
With a barrel to throw me in.
Sing next harvest, and Sing thirsty men,
From the keg they fill their cups,
Then Sing a flood of old John’s blood.
As they all merrily sup.
Sing horny men chasing flotsam girls
By the moon they sail the tide.
Like stars of love, then fall from above.
Exhausted from their ride.
Sing another Spring, Sing Autumn’s buccaneers,
With fresh and billowing wives,
Now all take heed, and be agreed...
John Barleycorn survives.
