Fifteen birds in five firtrees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! But, funny little birds, they had no wings! O what shall we do with the funny little things? Roast 'em alive, or stew them in a pot; fry them, boil them and eat them hot?
Burn, burn tree and fern! Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch To light the night for our delight, Ya hey!
Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast 'em till beards blaze, and eyes glaze; till hair smells and skins crack, fat melts, and bones black in cinders lie beneath the sky!
So dwarves shall die, and light the night for our delight, Ya hey! Ya-harri-heyl Ya hoy!