John Barley Corn (Traffic - John Barleycorn Must Die)

There were three men came out of the west, their fortunes for to try And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn must die They’ve ploughed, they’ve sown, they’ve harrowed him in Threw clods upon his head And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn was dead They’ve let him lie for a very long time, ’til the rains from heaven did fall And little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all They’ve let him stand ’til Midsummer’s Day ’til he looked both pale and wan And little Sir John’s grown a long long beard and so become a man They’ve hired men with their scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee They’ve rolled him and tied him by the waist serving him most barbarously They’ve hired men with their sharp pitchforks who’ve pricked him to the heart And the loader he has served him worse than that For he’s bound him to the car