Letra de John Barleycorn - Traffic

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 sewn, they�ve harrowed him in,
Threw clods at Barley�s head,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead.
They�ve let him lie for a very long time,
�Till the rains from heaven did fall,
And little Sir John sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.
They�ve let him stand �till midsummer�s day,
�Till he looked both pale and worn,
And little Sir John�s grown a long, long beard,
And so become a man.
They�ve hired men with the scythes so sharp,
To cut him off at the knee,
They�ve rolled him and tied him by the waist,
Servin� him most barbarously.
They�ve hired men with the sharp pitchforks,
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Who pricked him to the heart,
And the loader he has served him worse than that,
For he�s bound him to the cart
They�ve wheeled him around and around the field,
�Till they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn oath,
On 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.
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
And he�s brandy in the glass;
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
Proved the strongest man at last.
The huntsman, he can�t hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly to blow his horn,
And the tinker he can�t mend kettle nor pots,
Without a little Barleycorn