The goblins of F'narg are angry
They've gone to make war with the elves.
There's no particular reason,
But they're bored of punching themselves.
They crossed the River of Grumble
Where water boils like fire,
They went around Mount Baraduke
Where some of them grew tired.
They bickered and they squabbled
Through the Caves of Korrogo
Some believed North was the quickest route,
Others they said no.
At the Pass of Harmal
They met a wandering mage,
He turned a few of them into pigs
When they were rude about his age.
They slid down the Ice Fields of Noolon
But some of them slid too long
And ended up in the gaping maw
Of a giant snow dugong.
They endured the Deserts of D'ump
Where the sun beat down too hot
Some followed a murderous mirage
A lucky few did not.
In the Slurping Swamps they struggled,
Lost boots and sometimes legs.
The sensible ones turned back for home
And all that were left were the dregs.
At last one goblin arrived
At the elf city of El Kelcarrow
He picked up a stick to throw at the wall
And was slain by a single arrow.
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