THE HILLS ARE ALIVE

By Sir William the Lucky

The hills are alive, and it looks like Mongols,
I see them all skulking among the trees.
The hills are alive, and it must be Mongols;
To be sure you have only to sniff the breeze.
To sniff the breeze.

The Mongols have raised up their yurts made of untanned skins on the top of the hill,
The Mongols have built cooking fires out of heaps of dung and they're burning the swill.
They've hobbled their ponies and foddered them well on the moldiest hay,
They've reveled 'til dawn, but at last they are facing the day.

I'll go to the hills with my senses battered,
I know I will find all of this and say:
"You Mongols must go, for you blight the landscape!
And you'll die today!"

Tune: 'The Sound of Music'