There were three farmers in the north, as they were passing by They swore an oath, a mighty oath, that barleycorn should die One of them said drown him and the others said hang him high For whoever will stick to the barleygrain, a beggin´ he will die
They put poor barley into a sack of a cold and rainy day And took him off to the cuillin´ fields and burned him in the clay The frost and snow began to melt, and the dew began to fall And the barley grain put up his head and he soon surprised them all
Bein´ in the summer season and the harvest coming on The reaper and the binder came and cut poor barley down The farmer came with his pitchfork and pierced me through the heart Like a thief a rogue or a highwayman they tied me to the cart
The thrashed me and they steeped me, and they dried me in the kiln They used me ten times and worse than that, they ground me in the mill They used me in the kitchen, they used me in the hall They used me in the parlour among the ladies all
Oh the barleycorn is a comical grain, it makes men sigh and moan But when they drink a glass or two, they forget their wives at home The drunkard he is a terrible man he used me worst of all He drank me up from his dirty paw and he pissed me against the wall