Grab a poker, stoke the fire, get the water nice and hot.
Cut the onions, the potatoes, throw them all into the pot.
But it seems like something's missing in this bubbling vat of gravy...
From the village square a woman screams, “Kobolds Ate My Baby!”

Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!

Bar all the windows and lock all the doors, cause kobolds are hunting tonight.
They want a sweet little human treat, and a baby will do just right.
In honor of Vor, the Big Angry Red God, their ruler has declared a feast
Of succulent pastries and dainty delights, and exotic delicacies. (That means babies!)

Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!

They're short and they're hairy and so full of teeth, their mouth takes up most of their head.
Stupid and hungry, and tasty as well, most of them soon end up dead.
But quicker than tribbles or rabbits can mate, they repopulate with ease.
And so, to avoid being thrown in the pot, they gear up and hunt babies. (Catch that baby!)

Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!

Kobolds eat a bunch of different things, disgusting and delicious.
They don't care if it is fattening or cardboard or nutritious.
But they'll pass up almost anything to grab a little baby,
And the reason they like babies best is “'cause babies is so tasty!”

Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!
Kobolds ate my baby, for Torg—All Hail King Torg!