All Among The Barley - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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. 
Chorus. 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.