Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
John Barleycorn 
There were three farmers in the North and as they were passing by They swore an oath, a mighty oath that John Barleycorn must die One of them says we'll drown him and the other says hang him high A whiff of the stick of the barley grain and a-beggin we will die With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
They put poor barley into the sack on that cold and rainy day They carried him off to the garden field, they buried him in the clay The frost and snow began to melt and the dew began to fall And barley grain rolled up he said that he'd soon surprise them all With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
Bein' in the summer season with the harvest comin' on He stands up in the field with a beard like any man The reaper came to wield his sickle he used me barbarously, He cut me by the middle so small, he cut me above the knee With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
Then next came master binder and he looked on me with a frown For in the middle there was a thistle, which bowled his courage down The farmer came with his pitchfork, he pierced me thru the heart Like a thief and robber or highwaymen they tied me to the cart With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
The thresher came with his big flail, he nearly broke me bones T'would grieve the heart of any man just to hear me sighs and moans The next thing that they done to me was to drown me in the well They left me there for a day and a half or until I began to swell With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
The next thing that they done to me was they dried me in the kiln They used me ten times worse than that when they ground me in the mill The used me in the kitchen and the used me in the hall They used me up in the parlor, among the ladies all With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
The barley grain is a comical grain he makes men sigh and moan For when they take a glass of me they forget their wives at home The drunkard he is a dirty man and he uses me worst of all He takes me up in his dirty mouth and he stumbles against the wall With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay 
There were three farmers in the North and as they were passing by They swore an oath, a mighty oath that John Barleycorn must die One of them says we'll drown him and the other says hang him high A whiff of the stick of the barley grain and a-beggin we will die With me fal-er-a-lind-a-me too-ra-lunda-me whack-fal-diddle-di-ay