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
Chorus: Wusha Fol de lot etc…..
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
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