Oh you can search far and wide
You can shake the whole town dry
But you’ll (never find a beer a beer so brown – repeat)
As the one we drink in our hometown
You can keep your fancy ales
You can drink them by the flagon
But the only ale for the brave and true
Comes from the green dragon
Hey ho to the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow
There's to be many more to go
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain
And the stream that falls from the hill to plain
Better than a rain or a rippling brook
Is the local beer inside this Took
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates
Cut the cloth and trail the fat!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if they are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates
There is an inn, There is an inn,
There's a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he saws his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.
So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
"It's after three!" he said.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.
The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her suprise
they all went back to bed.
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