Whose rings these are, I think I know.
They've all come back to Mordor, though,
Except the Elvish Three—and Mine,
Whose whereabouts I'd like to know!
“You are old, Giovanni, the richest of men,
Also old, as I’m forced to repeat,
Since your arch-nemesis is a child of ten,
Whom you never can seem to defeat.”
“In my youth,” said the villain, “A child of that age
Beat my pidgey, which still makes me wince:
And my infamous schemes have been driven by rage
Against children of ten ever since.”
She can smell burning cities when people tell lies
Yeah she eats steel nails, shits 'em out galvanized
Now she's not safe for people with nut allergies
And she runs on the cloud, but she's always a woman to me