Stewards roasting on an open fire;
Brego nipping at your nose;
Battle cries being yelled by an army,
And Hobbits in armor, head to toes.

Everybody knows
Some pipeweed and a mug of ale
Will help to keep the spirits bright.
Rohirrim tots with their eyes wide with fear,
will find it hard to sleep, tonight.

They know the Uruks are on their way,
They’re going to pillage, kill and burn the horses’ hay,
And every mother’s child is gonna fight,
If they possess the skills to hold a sword upright.

And so, I’m betting not a single one
Survives till daybreak on the 5th;
I know that sneaking into Mordor isn’t cake, but
DANG IT, FRODO, TORCH THAT RING—AND QUICK!!