Tom Smith

Well, the world’s in a great commotion,
From the Misty Mountains back to the Shire,
The Hobbits are sneakin’ the One Ring
From the frying pan into the Fire.
“From somewhere we gotta get a hero” —
That’s what the bards all sing,
But they never expected the rockin’ and rollin’ I bring —
It’s the return of the King.

I got a suit of studded black leather,
And my hair stays in place, of course,
I got a re-forged steel electric guitar
And a three-hundred-horsepower horse.
No matter what I ask my Rangers,
They’ll do almost anything,
And the ladies are waitin’ for the chance to dance and sing —
At the return of the King.

Well, everyone said that I was dead,
Or maybe Ara-Goin’ off to hide,
But I just kicked back to get on track,
And wait till I hit my my Stride.

I got my Rangers hoppin’
Down the misty murky Moria Line,
And there ain’t gonna be no stoppin’
Till the Pellenore Fields are mine,
We’ll hold off the trolls and goblins,
And all of the rocks they fling,
Until Sam and Frodo set Gollum’s bells to Ring —
And make me the King.

Now, I’m supposed to marry Arwen, the Fairie
Queen of the Saturday Nights,
But until then, give me Eowyn
And I’ll blow out her Northern Lights.

We’ll have a celebration,
And I’ll take a couple years to rest,
Then I’ll stick around and keep an eye on things
When everybody else heads West,
But I’ll be here if you need me,
Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring,
And everyone in Middle-Earth’ll really rock and swing —
At the Return of the King.
At the Return of the King.
At the Return of the King.

— That’s why they call me the King.