Don’t go drinking with hobbits. Sure you’ll have a grand time all night long. But if you’re not used to drinking with hobbits, You may not want to wake up at all.
They were thoughtful and kind when they invited me to drink, A lone human among hobbitkind. They bought me a half, then another and one more And told stories of days long gone by.
The brew was strong. My glass never empty, As if time stood still and bare. But when I awoke the next morning I felt like Old Smaug had been there.
You may wonder how it all happened. Well, I’m still wondering what happened too. I had tea, dinner, and supper. Quite full, I thought I was through.
They insisted I come to the Flagon And join in a toast to new friends. But when I go there, I met more hobbit friends And the toasts seemed never to end.
When the sun it rose the next morning, And I lifted my head from the drool, There were beer mugs spilled on the table And hobbits lying next to their stools.
A young hobbit lass grinned cross the barroom And nudged each of my new hobbit friends. Then sometime after second breakfast We all started drinking again.
I left Hobbiton a few days later. My head was swollen and sore. It felt like a dwarven anvil After a terrible war.
I don’t think I’ll ever recover From the food, the drink and the cheer. Now I swear I’ll never drink with hobbits again At least, not till I see them next year.