Lack Of Limits :: :: John Barleycorn

  
   There were thin men came out of the west
  They came their fortunes for to try
  They had made a solemn oath,
  John Barleycorn must die
  
  They ploughed him 3 furrows deep
  Laid clods upon his head
  And they had made a solemn oath,
  Sir John shall be dead
  
  Well then came a shower of rain,
  Which from the heavy clouds did fall
  And little Sir John sprung up his head,
  He so amazed them all
  
  And little Sir John had grown a long long beard
  He so became a man
  With a knife they cut him off his head
  And dead was John Barleycorn
  
  They wheeled him here,
  They wheeled him there
  They wheeled him into a barn
  And little Sir John he laughed with them
  Loud and proud they sang:
  
  "Hey, hey, it`s a lucky day,
  John Barleycorn is dead."