A Drinking Song Hey, ho, to the bottle I go, To heal my heart and drown my woe! Rain may fall and wind may blow, But there still beeeeee many miles to go! Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, And stream that falls from hill to plain! Better than rain or rippling brook, Is a mug of beer inside this Took! Strange and dark is the world outside, But in the pub we've naught to hide! With lots of ale, and barley wine, This evenin' is surpassin' fine! Harvest's in and cold without, An' hobbits strong are hobbits stout! Naught to fear, and naught to think, For hobbits nowwww have ale to drink! (chorus) The Shire lays right down to sleep, In slumber long and slumber deep! Hushed be hobbit lass and lad, With faces plump and faces glad! A land of peace and a hobbit hole And in a pouch a pipeweed roll! Never falter, never fear, For the Shire will always be here! (chorus twice)   Bath Song Sing hey! for the bath at close of day That washes the weary mud away! A loon is he that will not sing: O! Water Hot is anoble thing! O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain. and the brook that leaps from hill to plain; but better than rain or rippling streams is Water Hot that smokes and steams. O! Water cold we may pour at need down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed; but better is Beer, if drink we lack, and Water Hot poured down the back. O! Water is fair that leaps on high in a fountain white beneath the sky; but never did fountain sound so sweet as splashing Hot Water with my feet!   Roads go ever on and on Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known.   Merry Elven Song Roll - roll - roll - roll, roll - roll - rolling down the hole! Heave ho! Splash plump! Down they go, down they bump!                                                                                                                             / The Ents' Marching Song We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom! We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom! To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone; Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone, We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door; For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars - we go to war! To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come;   To Isengard with doom we come! With doom we come, with doom we come!