Rob Biden Poet Verse

A Traditional Song Reworked

They buried him two inches deep
and for months there wasn't peep
And then with barely a sound
he forced his head out of the ground

For months he grew tall and grew straight
until it was time for his fate
In his prime he was cut to the ground
and then with his comrades was bound

They beat him with flails and with whips
until, in his skin, appeared rips
Then they laid him down on the floor
and over him, water, did pour

They boiled all his juices away
and left him alone for a day
Then they sealed him away in a vat
until he grew cold and quite flat

Next they poured what was left in a keg
with the essence of white of an egg
They then left him once more for a while
and moved him for many a mile

In a dungeon so dark and so cold
with walls that were covered with mould
they left him a day and a night
until his condition was right

Then they pulled him out into the light
and he looked such a beautiful sight
As brown as the robe of a monk
John Barleycorn finally got drunk

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