American Old Time Song Lyrics: 20 All Among The Barley

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 20

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All Among the Barley.

Come out, 'tis now September,
The hunter's moon's begun;
And through the wheaten stubble
Is heard the frequent gun.
The leaves are paling yellow,
Or kindling into red;
And the ripe and golden barley
Is hanging down its head.

All among the barley.
Who would not be blythe,
When the free and happy barley
Is smiling on the scythe?

The Spring she is a young maid
That does not know her mind;
The Summer is a tyrant
Of most unrighteous kind.
The Autumn is an old friend
That loves one all he can,
And that brings the happy barley
To glad the heart of man.-Chorus.

The wheat is like a rich man
That's sleek and well to do.
The oats are like a pack of girls
Laughing, And dancing, too.
The rye is like a miser
That's sulky, lean and small;
But the free and bearded barley
Is the monarch of them all.-Chorus.
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