Mayor Will Whitfoot, that fine old hobbit,

Sat in his hole in Michel Delving;

And the roof just caved in around him,

Came out looking like a powdered dumpling.

Watch your tongue, Pip, for you are in Bree now:

Nice enough, but it's still outside the Shire.

And we aren't on a hobbit walking-party,

You know our quest is dire.

Bilbo Baggins turned eleventy-one,

But that was years ago;

He said, "Don't know half as well as I'd like,

But now it's time to go."

Watch your tongue, Pip, for you are in Bree now:

Nice enough, but it's still outside the Shire.

And we aren't on a hobbit walking-party,

You know our quest is dire.

Drink and food and friends are nice, true,

But Bree-land, it draws all types,

So I would keep your little friend from talking

If you'd survive the night.

Watch what he says, for you are in Bree now:

Nice enough, but it's still outside the Shire.

And you aren't on a hobbit walking-party,

You know your quest is dire.

The landlord keeps a dog who laughs hard,

And a cow to dance beneath the moon,

The man in the moon drunk off his wits, and

The fork fled with his spoon.

Frodo, Watch what you do, for you're in Bree now.

Nice enough, but it's still outside the Shire.

And you aren't on a hobbit walking-party,

You know our quest is dire.

That queer sight, it won't be forgot soon,

Disappearing hobbit from the Shire;

Some left quick, the others called for Barly,

Told him what had transpired.

Frodo saw Strider's ire:

From the pan, into the fire.