There were three men came out of the west
You've heard their tale I think
They tortured and killed John Barleycorn
And then went for a drink
They thought they had gotten away with the crime
That I'd let my brother's murder lie
My name, you see, is Barleycorn
Sam Barleycorn, P.I.

I heard late one thursday, as smog rolled in
That John had breathed his last
The coroner had quite a tale to tell
Once the autopsy was past
A scythe had been used to cut him at the knees
And then he was bound to a cart
Then rolled, tied and ground between two stones
But that wasn't the gruesome part

The perps used a pitchfork, and crabtree sticks
First they made an unholy vow
They cut little Johnny skin from bone
Said a farmhand in custody now
I staked out a club called The Nut Brown Bowl
Where the killers spent their nights
And long about six, who should show up there
But the three I had in my sites

I ordered a brandy and turned to the first
He smelled of cheap cologne
I told him my name and the bar cleared out
Leaving him and me alone
He reached for his gat as I reached for mine
It was done before it began
And so I had finished the first of three
As the others turned and ran

And back in the alley behind the bar
Where the gunsels lay in wait
I came out blazing with gun in hand
And so finished up our date
I knew that Lieutenant McNulty would hear
So I gave him a call on the horn
And told him I'd just done his job for him
And avenged John Barleycorn