There was three men come out of the west
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn should die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head.
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.

They let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall,
And little Sir John sprung up his head
And that amazed them all.
They let him stand till midsummer
And he growed both pale and wan.
Then little Sir John, he growed a long beard
And so become a man.

They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee.
And poor little Johnny Barleycorn
They served most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
To pierce him to the heart.
And the loader, he served him worse than that
For he bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him all around the field
A prisoner to endure,
And in the barn poor Barleycorn
They laid him upon the floor.
They hired men with the crab tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller, he served him worse than that
For he ground him between two stones.

They've wheeled him round and around the field
Till they came into the barn
And there they've made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn.
They've hired men with the crab tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller, he has served him worse than that
For he's ground him between two stones.

I'll make a boy into a man,
A man into an ass.
I'll change your gold to silver, lass,
And your silver into brass.
I'll make the huntsman hunt the fox
With never a hound or horn.
I'll bring the tinker into gaol
Says old John Barleycorn.

Here's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
And here's brandy in the glass
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last.
For the huntsman, he can't hunt the fox
Nor so loudly to blow his horn,
And the tinker, he can't mend kettles nor pots
Without a little barley corn.

Oh barley wine is the choicest drink
That was ever drunk on land.
It will make a man do miracles
By the turning of his hand.
You can tip your brandy in a glass,
Your whiskey in a can,
But barley corn and his nut-brown ale
Will prove the stronger man.

Martin Carthy sings Steeleye Span's version

Oh there were three men came out of the west
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn should die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head.
Then these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.

There were three men
Came from the west
Their fortunes for to tell,
And the life of John Barleycorn as well.

They have laid him in three furrows deep,
Laid clods upon his head,
Then these three man made a solemn vow
|: John Barleycorn was dead. :|

They let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall.
Then little Sir John he raised up his head
And he soon amazed them all.
They let him lie till the long midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan.
Then little Sir John growed a long, long beard
And so became a man.

They let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall,
Then little Sir John he sprang up his head
And |: he did amaze them all. :|

And they let him stand till the midsummer day,
Till he looked both pale and wan.
The little Sir John he grew a long beard
And |: he so became a man. :|