Fifteen birds in five fir trees
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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,
Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast ’em!
Till beards blaze, and eyes glaze;
Till hair smells and skins crack,
Tat melts, and bones black
In cinders lie
Beneath the sky!
So dwarves shall die,
And light the night for our delight,