Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling boil;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when youīve finished, if any are whole,
send them down the hall to roll!

Thatsīs what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So carefully! carefully with the plates!

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarfes of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung the
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were maoaning in the night,
The fire was red, in flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
Then dragonīs ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and hhouses frail.

The mountains smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath his moon.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To win our harps and gold from him!

O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally
here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking,
The bannocks are baking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly
the valley is jolly,
ha! ha!

O! Where are you going
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
down into the valley
in June
ha! ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and hark
Till the end of dark
to our tune
ha! ha!

Clap! Snap! the black crack!
Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
And down down to Goblin-town
You go my lad!

Clash, crash! Clush, smash!
Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!
Pound, pound, far underground!
Ho, ho! my lad!

Swish, smack! Whip crack!
Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!
Work, work! Not dare to shirk,
While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,
Round and round, far underground
Below, my lad!