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