As always, we'll be singing this one just before the dessert course tonight at our Harvest Supper, courtesy of (who else?) those incomparable satirists of British folk idiom, the Kipper Family.
You can sing it to the standard Traffic John Barleycorn tune, but up the tempo some and think “cheerful” instead. And if you happen to have a squeezebox or accordion to accompany it, so much the better.
Joy of the Harvest to you and yours.
Joan Sugarbeet
There was three men come out of the East, their fortunes for to try;
and these three men made a solemn vow: Joan Sugarbeet must die.
They've plowed, they've sown, they've harrowed her in, threw clods upon her head;
and these three men made a solemn vow: Joan Sugarbeet was dead.
They let her lie for a very long time, till the rains from Heaven did fall:
then little Lady Joan sprung up her head, and so amazed them all.
They let her lie till Midwinter, till she looked both flaccid and green:
then little lady Joan, she grew a big bottom, and so became a queen.
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Here's a nasty little piece of pagan satire along such lines. Some things deserve to be remembered. Down we go to the world below
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Sign me up on the list, lease!
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Once, back in the 90s, I made a comedy song tape of Pagan songs and chants, called "The Carcrashic Records". Someday I hope to col