#lordoftherings #french #comedysong
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lyrics:
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie, A group of Frenchmen gave it a try. With baguettes in hand and berets on head, They marched to the gates, full of dread.
They shouted, “Bonjour!” to the orcs so grim, Offered them croissants, on a whim. But the orcs just laughed and barred the way, “Non, non, mes amis, you cannot stay!”
They built a Trojan horse, so grand, Filled with escargot and a French brass band. But Sauron saw through their clever ruse, And sent them packing, with no excuse.
With a catapult, they launched fromage, Hoping to cause a grand mirage. But the cheese just splattered on the gate, Leaving the Frenchmen to their fate.
They tried to charm the Nazgûl nine, With bottles of their finest wine. But the wraiths were not impressed at all, And sent them running, back to Gaul.
A mime performed, with silent grace, Hoping to distract, in that dark place. But the orcs were puzzled, not amused, And the mime was quickly thus excused.
They brought a painter, with easel and brush, To capture Mordor in a rush. But the landscape was too bleak and dire, And the painter fled, his heart afire.
A chef prepared a grand soufflé, To win the orcs in a gourmet way. But the dish collapsed, as soufflés do, And the Frenchmen knew they were through.
They brought a poet, with words so sweet, To charm the guards and make them fleet. But the orcs were deaf to his rhymes, And sent him back to better times.
A knight in armor, shining bright, Charged at the gates with all his might. But the Black Gates stood firm and tall, And the knight was left to stall.
A troupe of dancers, light on their feet, Performed a ballet, so elite. But the orcs just stared, unimpressed, And the dancers left, feeling stressed.
They tried to bribe with gold and gems, Hoping to sway the dark condemns. But Sauron’s minions took the loot, And chased them off, in hot pursuit.
A philosopher, with thoughts profound, Tried to reason with logic sound. But the orcs cared not for deep debate, And sent him off to contemplate.
So back to France, they did retreat, With tales of Mordor, bittersweet. But they’ll return, with a new plan, which surely will fail, god be damn!