Fee, fie, fo, fum
We smell the blood of a gob-bi-lun,
He be not alive, so be he dead,
We'll grind his bones to make our bread.
Fee, fie, fo, fum
We smell the blood of a gob-bi-lun,
He be not alive, so be he dead,
Give crows his eyes from out his head.
Fee, fie, fo, fum
We smell the blood of a gob-bi-lun,
He be not alive, so be he dead,
Worgs chew his liver to be well fed.