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