Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates
So carefully! Carefully with the plates!

Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
That's 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 dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

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 men or elves.

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

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

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

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

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

We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!
"