Round the crooked campfire's glow, Greenfolk laughed where briars grow. "Look!" cried Grib with rotten grin, "Big ogre lost his boot again." They count on thumbs, then lose the count, They climb a hill and fear the mount. A turnip tricks them every day, They chase their own clubs far away. Raise your mugs and bang the wall, The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Stone and muscle, thick as clay, A clever mind will steal the day. Raise your mugs and laugh out loud, Even giants feed the crowd. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. One great brute wore pots for mail, Called a pig a dragon's tail. Another swung a mighty tree, Missed the goblin—hit his knee. While they roared with empty pride, Green feet danced from side to side. A rope, a log, a hidden pit, One loud THUD!—and that was it. So the bards of briar halls still call, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." For wit may wear a tattered hood, Yet humble cunning conquers brute. Raise your mugs and bang the wall, The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Stone and muscle, thick as clay, A clever mind will steal the day. Raise your mugs and laugh out loud, Even giants feed the crowd. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
