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Title
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Ripe and bearded barley
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Singer
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Sirman, Henry
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Song Lyrics
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Verse 1
Come out, 'tis now September,
The hunter's moon's begun,
And through the wheaten stubble,
We hear the frequent gun.
Verse 2
The leaves are turning yellow,
And fading into red,
While the ripe and bearded barley,
Is hanging down its head
Verse 3
The wheat is like a rich man,
It's sleek and well to do;
The oats are like a pack of girls,
They're thin and dancing, too.
Verse 4
The rye is like a miser,
Both sulky, lean and small,
While the ripe and bearded barley
Is the monarch of them all.
