Fifteen Birds in five fir trees,
Their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!
What funny little birds, they had no wings,
Oh what should we do with the funny little things!
Oh what should we do with the funny little things.

Roast'em alive or stew'em in a pot,
or fry them, boil them, eat them hot!
Bake'em, toast'em, fry'em, and roast'em,
til beards blaze and eyes glaze,
til hair swells, and skin cracks
fat melts, and bones blackened cinders lie beneath the sky!!
So the dwarves shall die!