The Gangsta Hobbit

by AuraWarrior

Thanks to the magic of Gizoogle, read The Hobbit like you have never read it before!

1. Chapta 1 An Unexpected Party, Yo

(AN: Thanks to the magic that is Gizoogle, and JRR Tolkien, enjoy The Hobbit as you've never seen it before!)

In a hole up in tha ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled wit tha endz of worms n' a oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole wit not a god damn thang up in it ta sit down on and ta eat: it was a hobbit-hole, n' dat means comfort.

It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted chronic, wit a shiny yellow brass knob up in tha exact middle. Da door opened on ta a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a straight-up laid back tunnel without smoke, wit panelled walls, n' floors tiled n' carpeted, provided wit polished chairs, n' fuckin shitloadz n' fuckin shitloadz of pegs fo' hatz n' coatz - tha hobbit was fond of visitors. Da tunnel wound on n' on, goin fairly but not like straight tha fuck into tha side of tha hill - Da Hill, as all tha gangstas fo' nuff milez round called it - n' nuff lil round doors opened up of it, first on one side n' then on another. No goin upstairs fo' tha hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lotz of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted ta clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all was on tha same stupid-ass floor, n' indeed on tha same stupid-ass passage. Da dopest rooms was all on tha left-hand side (goin in), fo' these was tha only ones ta have windows, deep-set round windows lookin over his stupid-ass garden n' meadows beyond, slopin down ta tha river.

This hobbit was a straight-up well-to-do hobbit, n' his name was Baggins. Da Bagginses had lived up in tha neighbourhood of Da Hill fo' time up of mind, n' gangstas considered em straight-up respectable, not only cuz most of em was rich yo, but also cuz they never had any adventures and did anythang unexpected: yo ass could tell what tha fuck a Baggins would say on any question without tha bother of askin his muthafuckin ass. This be a rap of how tha fuck a Baggins had a adventure, found his dirty ass bustin n' sayin thangs altogether unexpected. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude may have lost tha neighbours' respec' yo, but he gained-well, yo ass will peep whether he gained anythang up in tha end.

Da mutha of our particular hobbit... what tha fuck be a hobbit, biatch? I suppose hobbitz need some description nowadays, since they have become rare n' shy of tha Big Muthafuckas, as they call us. They is (or were) a lil gangstas, bout half our height, n' smalla than tha bearded Dwarves yo. Hobbitz have no beards. There is lil and no magic bout them, except tha ordinary everydizzle sort which helps em ta disappear on tha fuckin' down-lowly n' quickly when big-ass stupid folk like yo ass n' mah crazy ass come blunderin along, bustin a noise like elephantz which they can hear a mile off. They is inclined ta be at up in tha stomach; they dress up in bright colours (chizzlely chronic n' yellow); wear no shoes, cuz they feet grow natural leathery solez n' thick warm brown afro like tha shiznit on they headz (which is curly); have long smart-ass brown fingers, phat-natured faces, n' laugh deep fruitizzle laughs (especially afta dinner, which they have twice a dizzle when they can git it). Now yo ass know enough ta go on wit fo' realz.

As I was saying, tha mutha of dis hobbit - of Bilbo Baggins, dat is - was tha fabulous Belladonna Took, one of tha three remarkable daughtaz of tha Oldskool Took, head of tha hobbitz whoz ass lived across Da Water, tha lil' small-ass river dat ran all up in tha foot of Da Hill. It was often holla'd (in other crews) dat long ago one of tha Took izzlestors must have taken a fairy ho. That was, of course, absurd yo, but certainly there was still some shiznit not entirely hobbit-like bout them, - n' once up in a while thugz of tha Took-clan would go n' have adventures. They discreetly disrocked up, n' tha gang hushed it up; but tha fact remained dat tha Tooks was not as respectable as tha Bagginses, though they was undoubtedly richer. Not dat Belladonna Took ever had any adventures afta her ass became Mrs. Bungo Baggins. Bungo, dat was Bilboz father, built da most thugged-out luxurious hobbit-hole fo' her (and kinda wit her scrilla) dat was ta be found either under Da Hill and over Da Hill and across Da Water, n' there they remained ta tha end of they days. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Still it aint nuthin but probable dat Bilbo, her only son, although he looked n' behaved exactly like a second edizzle of his solid n' laid back father, gotz some shiznit a bit queer up in his crazy-ass makeup from tha Took side, some shiznit dat only waited fo' a chizzle ta come out. Da chizzle never arrived, until Bilbo Baggins was grown up, bein bout fifty muthafuckin years oldschool and so, n' livin up in tha dope hobbit-hole built by his wild lil' father, which I have just busted lyrics bout fo' you, until he had up in fact apparently settled down immovably.

By some curious chizzle one mornin long ago up in tha on tha down-low of tha ghetto, when there was less noise n' mo' chronic, n' tha hobbitz was still a shitload of n' prosperous, n' Bilbo Baggins was standin at his fuckin lil' door afta breakfast tokin a enormous long wooden pipe dat reached nearly down ta his woolly toes (neatly brushed) - Gandalf came by. Gandalf, muthafucka! If yo ass had heard only a quarta of what tha fuck I have heard bout him, n' I have only heard straight-up lil of all there is ta hear, yo ass would be prepared fo' any sort I of remarkable tale. Talez n' adventures sprouted up all over tha place wherever he went, up in da most thugged-out extraordinary fashion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude had not been down dat way under Da Hill fo' ages n' ages, not since his wild lil' playa tha Oldskool Took died, up in fact, n' tha hobbitz had almost forgotten what tha fuck he looked like yo. Dude had been away over Da Hill n' across Da Gin N Juice on bidnizz of his own since they was all lil' small-ass hobbit-boys n' hobbit-hoes.

All dat tha unsuspectin Bilbo saw dat mornin was a oldschool playa wit a staff yo. Dude had a tall pointed blue hat, a long-ass grey cloak, a silver scarf over which a white beard hung down below his waist, n' immense black boots. "Dope morning!" holla'd Bilbo, n' he meant dat shit. Da sun was shining, n' tha grass was straight-up chronic. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But Gandalf looked at his ass from under long bushy eyebrows dat stuck up further than tha brim of his shady hat. "What do yo ass mean?" be holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Do yo ass wish mah crazy ass a phat morning, and mean dat it aint nuthin but a phat mornin whether I want not; and dat yo ass feel phat dis morning; and dat it aint nuthin but mornin ta be phat on?"

"All of em at once," holla'd Bilbo. "And a straight-up fine mornin fo' a pipe of bluntz up of doors, tha fuck into tha bargain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. If yo ass gotz a pipe bout you, sit down n' gotz a fill of mine, muthafucka! Therez no hurry, our crazy-ass asses have all tha dizzle before us!" Then Bilbo sat down on a seat by his fuckin lil' door, crossed his fuckin legs, n' blew up a dope grey rang of smoke dat sailed up tha fuck into tha air without breakin n' floated away over Da Hill.

"Straight-up pretty!" holla'd Gandalf. "But I have no time ta blow smoke-rings dis morning. I be lookin fo' some muthafucka ta share up in a adventure dat I be arranging, n' itz straight-up hard as fuck ta find every last muthafuckin muthafucka."

I should think so - up in these parts, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses is plain on tha down-low folk n' have no bust fo' adventures. Nasty disturbin uncomfortable thangs, muthafucka! Make yo ass late fo' dinner, muthafucka! I can't think what tha fuck anybody sees up in them, holla'd our Mista Muthafuckin Baggins, n' stuck one thumb behind his braces, n' blew up another even bigger smoke-ring. Then he took up his crazy-ass mornin letters, n' begin ta read, pretendin ta take no mo' notice of tha oldschool man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude had decided dat he was not like his sort, n' wanted his ass ta go away. But tha oldschool playa did not move yo. Dude stood leanin on his stick n' gazin all up in tha hobbit without sayin anythang, till Bilbo gotz like uncomfortable n' even a lil cross.

"Dope morning!" he holla'd at last. "Our thugged-out asses don't want any adventures here, fuck you, muthafucka! Yo Ass might try over Da Hill and across Da Water." By dis he meant dat tha conversation was at a end.

"What a shitload of thangs yo ass do bust Dope mornin for!" holla'd Gandalf. "Now yo ass mean dat yo ass wanna git rid of me, n' dat it won't be phat till I move off."

"Not at all, not at all, mah dear sir, muthafucka! Let mah crazy ass see, I don't think I know yo' name?"

"Yes, yes, mah dear sir - n' I do know yo' name, Mista Muthafuckin Bilbo Baggins fo' realz. And yo ass do know mah name, though yo ass don't remember dat I belong ta dat shit. I be Gandalf, n' Gandalf means me, muthafucka! To think dat I should have lived ta be phat-morninged by Belladonna Tookz son, as if I was pushin buttons all up in tha door!"

"Gandalf, Gandalf, muthafucka! Dope gracious me, muthafucka! Not tha wanderin wizard dat gave Oldskool Took a pair of magic diamond studz dat fastened themselves n' never came undone till ordered, biatch? Not tha fellow whoz ass used ta tell such wonderful talez at parties, bout dragons n' goblins n' giantz n' tha rescue of bizzatches n' tha unexpected luck of widows' sons, biatch? Not tha playa dat used ta make such particularly pimpin fireworks, muthafucka! I remember them, muthafucka! Oldskool Took used ta have em on Midsummerz Eve. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Splendid, muthafucka! They used ta go up like pimped out lilies n' snapdragons n' laburnumz of fire n' hang up in tha twilight all evening!"

Yo Ass will notice already dat Mista Muthafuckin Baggins was not like so prosy as he dug ta believe, also dat he was straight-up fond of flowers. "Dear me!" her ass went on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Not tha Gandalf whoz ass was responsible fo' all kindsa muthafuckin on tha down-low ladz n' lasses goin off tha fuck into tha Blue fo' mad adventures fo' realz. Anythang from climbin trees ta visitin Elves - and sailin up in shizzles, sailin ta other shores, muthafucka! Bless me, thuglife used ta be like inta - I mean, yo ass used ta upset thangs badly up in these partz back up in tha day. I beg yo' pardon yo, but I had no idea yo ass was still up in bidnizz." "Where else should I be?" holla'd tha wizard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "All tha same stupid-ass I be pleased ta find yo ass remember some shiznit bout me. Yo Ass seem ta remember mah fireworks kindly, at any rate, land dat aint without hope. Indeed fo' yo' oldschool grand-father Tookz sake, n' fo' tha sake of poor Belladonna, I will give yo ass what tha fuck yo ass axed for."

"I beg yo' pardon, I haven't axed fo' anythang!"

"Yes, yo ass have, muthafucka! Twice now, nahmeean, biatch? My fuckin pardon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I give it yo ass fo'sho. In fact I will go so far as ta bust yo ass on dis adventure. Straight-up amusin fo' me, straight-up phat fo' yo ass n' profitable too, straight-up likely, if yo ass ever git over dat shit."

"Sorry, muthafucka! I don't want any adventures, fuck yo ass fo'sho. Not todizzle. Dope morning!

But please come ta tea - any time yo ass like, muthafucka! Why not tomorrow, biatch? Come tomorrow! Dope-bye!"

With dat tha hobbit turned n' scuttled inside his bangin round chronic door, n' shut it as quickly as he dared, not ta peeped rude. Wizardz afta all is wizards.

"What on earth did I ask his ass ta tea for!" he holla'd ta him-self, as he went to tha pantry yo. Dude had only just had break fast yo, but he thought a cake and two n' a drink of some shiznit would do his ass phat afta his wild lil' fright. Gandalf up in tha meantime was still standin outside tha door, n' bustin up long but on tha fuckin' down-lowly fo' realz. Afta a while he stepped up, n' wit tha spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on tha hobbitz dope chronic front-door. Then he strode away, just bout tha time when Bilbo was finishin his second cake n' beginnin ta think dat he had escape adventures straight-up well.

Da next dizzle he had almost forgotten bout Gandalf yo. Dude did not remember thangs straight-up well, unless he put em down on his Engagement Tablet: like this: Gandalf 'a Wednesday. Yesterdizzle he had been too flustered ta do anythang of tha kind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Just before tea-time there came a tremendous rang on tha front-door bell, n' then he remembered, muthafucka! Dude rushed n' put on tha kettle, n' put up another cup n' saucer n' a extra cake and two, n' ran ta tha door. "I be so sorry ta keep yo ass waiting!" he was goin ta say, when he saw dat it was not Gandalf at all. It was a dwarf wit a blue beard tucked tha fuck into a golden belt, n' straight-up bright eyes under his fuckin lil' dark-chronic hood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! As soon a tha door was opened, he pushed inside, just as if he had been expected. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude hung his hooded cloak on tha nearest peg, n' "Dwalin at yo' service!" he holla'd wit a low bow.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours!" holla'd tha hobbit, too surprised ta ask any thangs fo' tha moment. When tha silence dat followed had become uncomfortable, he added: "I be just bout ta take tea; pray come n' have some wit me." A lil stiff like yo, but he meant it kindly fo' realz. And what tha fuck would yo ass do, if a uninvited dwarf came n' hung his cold-ass thangs up up in yo' hall without a word of explanation?

They had not been at table long, up in fact they had hardly reached tha third cake, when there came another even louder rang all up in tha bell. "Excuse me!" holla'd tha hobbit, n' off he went ta tha door. "So yo ass have gotz here at last!" was what tha fuck he was goin ta say ta Gandalf dis time. But it was not Gandalf. Instead there was a straight-up old-lookin dwarf on tha step wit a white beard n' a scarlet hood; n' he too hopped inside as soon as tha door was open, just as if he had been invited. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I peep they have begun ta arrive already," he holla'd when he caught sight of Dwalinz chronic hood hangin up yo. Dude hung his bangin red one next ta it, n' "Balin at yo' service!" he holla'd wit his hand on his breast.

"Nuff props!" holla'd Bilbo wit a gasp. It was not tha correc' muthafuckin thang ta say yo, but they have begun ta arrive had flustered his ass badly yo. Dude dug visitors yo, but he dug ta know em before they arrived, n' he preferred ta ask em his dirty ass yo. Dude had a wack thought dat tha cakes might run short, n' then he-as tha host: he knew his fuckin lil' duty n' stuck ta it however painful-he might have ta go without.

"Come along in, n' have some tea!" he managed ta say afta takin a deep breath.

"A lil brew would suit mah crazy ass better, if it aint nuthin but all tha same stupid-ass ta you, mah phat sir," holla'd Balin wit tha white beard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "But I don't mind some cake-seed-cake, if yo ass have any."

"Lots!" Bilbo found his dirty ass answering, ta his own surprise; n' he found his dirty ass scuttlin off, too, ta tha cellar ta fill a pint brew-mug, n' ta tha pantry ta fetch two dope round seed-cakes which he had baked dat afternoon fo' his thugged-out after-suppa morsel.

When he gotz back Balin n' Dwalin was rappin' all up in tha table like oldschool playaz (as a matta of fact they was bruthas). Bilbo plumped down tha brew n' tha cake up in front of them, when loud came a rang all up in tha bell again, n' then another ring.

"Gandalf fo' certain dis time," he thought as he puffed along tha passage. But it was not. It was two mo' dwarves, both wit blue hoods, silver belts, n' yellow beards; n' each of em carried a bag of tools n' a spade. In they hopped, as soon as tha door fuckin started ta open-Bilbo was hardly surprised at all.

"What can I do fo' you, mah dwarves?" he holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Kili at yo' service!" holla'd tha one. "And Fili!" added tha other; n' they both swept off they blue hoodz n' bowed.

"At yours n' yo' family's!" replied Bilbo, rememberin his crazy-ass manners dis time.

"Dwalin n' Balin here already, I see," holla'd Kili. "Let our asses join tha throng!"

"Throng!" thought Mista Muthafuckin Baggins. "I don't like tha sound of dat shit. I straight-up must sit down fo' a minute n' collec' mah wits, n' gotz a drink." Dude had only just had a sip-in tha corner, while tha four dwarves sat around tha table, n' talked bout mines n' gold n' shitz wit tha goblins, n' tha depredationz of dragons, n' fuckin shitloadz of other thangs which he did not understand, n' did not want to, fo' they sounded much too adventurous-when, ding-dong-a-ling-' dang, his bell rang again, as if some naughty lil hobbit-boy was tryin ta pull tha handle off. "Someone all up in tha door!" he holla'd, blinking. "Some four, I should say by tha sound," holla'd Fili. "Be-sides, our crazy-ass asses saw em comin along behind our asses up in tha distizzle."

Da poor lil hobbit sat down up in tha hall n' put his head up in his hands, n' wondered what tha fuck had happened, n' what tha fuck was goin ta happen, n' whether they would all stay ta supper. Then tha bell rang again louder than ever, n' he had ta run ta tha door. It was not four afta all, it was FIVE fo' realz. Another dwarf had come along while he was wonderin up in tha hall yo. Dude had hardly turned tha knob, be-x)re they was all inside, bowin n' sayin "at yo' service" one afta another. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, n' Gloin was they names; n' straight-up soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, n' a white hood was hangin on tha pegs, n' off they marched wit they broad handz stuck up in they gold n' silver beltz ta join tha others fo' realz. Already it had almost become a throng. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some called fo' ale, n' some fo' porter, n' one fo' coffee, n' all of em fo' cakes; so tha hobbit was kept straight-up busy fo' a while fo' realz. A big-ass jug of coffee bad just been set up in tha hearth, tha seed-cakes was gone, n' tha dwarves was startin on a round of buttered scones, when there came-a loud knock. Not a rang yo, but a hard rat-tat on tha hobbitz dope chronic door. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some Muthafucka was bangin wit a stick!

Bilbo rushed along tha passage, straight-up supa pissed, n' altogether bewildered n' bewuthered-this was da most thugged-out awkward Wednesdizzle he ever remembered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude pulled open tha door wit a jerk, n' they all fell in, one on top of tha other. Mo' dwarves, four more, muthafucka! And there was Gandalf behind, leanin on his staff n' bustin up yo. Dude had done cooked up like a dent on tha dope door; he had also, by tha way, knocked up tha secret mark dat he had put there tha mornin before. "Carefully, muthafucka! Carefully!" he holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "It aint like you, Bilbo, ta keep playaz waitin on tha mat, n' then open tha door like a pop-gun, muthafucka! Let mah crazy ass introduce Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, n' especially Thorin!" "At yo' service!" holla'd Bifur, Bofur, n' Bombur standin up in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoodz n' a pale chronic one; n' also a sky-blue one wit a long-ass silver tassel. This last belonged ta Thorin, a enormously blingin dwarf, up in fact no other than tha pimped out Thorin Oakenshield his dirty ass, whoz ass was not at all pleased at fallin flat on Bilboz mat wit Bifur, Bofur, n' Bombur on top of his muthafuckin ass. For one muthafuckin thang Bombur was immensely fat n' heavy. Thorin indeed was straight-up haughty, n' holla'd not a god damn thang bout service; but poor Mista Muthafuckin Baggins holla'd he was sorry all kindsa muthafuckin times, dat at last he grunted "pray don't mention it," n' stopped frowning.

"Now our crazy-ass asses is all here!" holla'd Gandalf, lookin all up in tha row of thirteen hoods-the dopest detachable jam hoods-and his own hat hangin on tha pegs. "Quite a merry gathering!

I hope there is some shiznit left fo' tha late-comers ta smoke n' drink, muthafucka! Whatz that, biatch? Tea, muthafucka! No fuck you, muthafucka! A lil red wine, I think, fo' me." "And fo' me," holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "And raspberry jam n' apple-tart," holla'd Bifur. "And mince-pies n' cheese," holla'd Bofur. "And pork-pie n' salad," holla'd Bombur. "And mo' cakes-and ale-and coffee, if yo ass don't mind," called tha other dwarves all up in tha door.

"Put on a few eggs, therez a phat fellow!" Gandalf called afta him, as the hobbit stumped off ta tha pantries. "And just brang up tha cold chicken n' pickles!"

"Seems ta know as much bout tha inside of mah lardaz as I do mah dirty ass!" thought Mista Muthafuckin Baggins, whoz ass was feelin positively flummoxed, n' was beginnin ta wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come muthafuckin right tha fuck into his house. By tha time he had gotz all tha fortyz n' dishes n' knives n' forks n' glasses n' plates n' spoons n' thangs piled up on big-ass trays, he was gettin straight-up hot, n' red up in tha face, n' annoyed.

"Confusticate n' bebother these dwarves!" he holla'd aloud. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Why don't they come n' lend a hand?" Lo n' behold, muthafucka! there stood Balin n' Dwalin all up in tha door of tha kitchen, n' Fili n' Kili behind them, n' before he could say knife they had whisked tha trays n' a couple lil' small-ass tablez tha fuck into tha parlour n' set up everythang afresh.

Gandalf sat all up in tha head of tha jam wit tha thirteen, dwarves all round: n' Bilbo sat on a stool all up in tha fireside, nibblin at a biscuit (his appetite was like taken away), n' tryin ta look as if dis was all perfectly ordinary and. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! not up in tha least a adventure. Da dwarves ate n' ate, n' talked n' talked, n' time gotz on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. At last they pushed they chairs back, n' Bilbo done cooked up a move ta collec' tha plates n' glasses. "I suppose yo ass will all stay ta supper?" he holla'd up in his thugged-out lil' politest unpressin tones. "Of course!" holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "And after. Our thugged-out asses shan't git all up in tha bidnizz till late, n' our crazy-ass asses must have some noize first. Now ta clear up!" Thereupon tha twelve dwarves-not Thorin, he was too blingin, n' stayed rappin' ta Gandalf-jumped ta they feet n' done cooked up tall pilez of all tha thangs. Off they went, not waitin fo' trays, balancin columnz of plates, each wit a forty on tha top, wit one hand, while tha hobbit ran afta em almost squeakin wit fright: "please be careful!" n' "please, don't shit, muthafucka! I can manage." But tha dwarves only started ta sing:

"Chip tha glasses n' crack tha plates!

Blunt tha knives n' bend tha forks!

Thatz what tha fuck Bilbo Baggins hates-

Smash tha fortyz n' burn tha corks!

Cut tha cloth n' tread on tha fat!

Pour tha gin n juice on tha pantry floor!

Leave tha bones on tha bedroom mat!

Splash tha wine on every last muthafuckin door!

Dump tha crocks up in a boilin bawl;

Pound em up wit a thumpin pole;

And when you've finished, if any is whole,

Send em down tha hall ta roll !

Thatz what tha fuck Bilbo Baggins hates!

So, carefully, muthafucka! Carefully wit tha plates!"

And of course they did none of these dreadful thangs, n' everythang was cleaned n' put away safe as quick as lightning, while tha hobbit was turnin round n' round up in tha middle of tha kitchen tryin ta peep what tha fuck they was bustin. Then they went back, n' found Thorin wit his wild lil' feet on tha fender tokin a pipe yo. Dude was blowin da most thugged-out enormous smoke-rings, n' wherever he busted some lyrics ta one ta go, it went-up tha chimney, and behind tha clock on tha man-telpiece, and under tha table, and round n' round tha ceiling; but wherever it went it was not quick enough ta escape Gandalf. Pop, muthafucka! he busted a smalla smoke-rin from his short clay-pipe straight all up in each one of Thorin's. Da Gandalfz smoke-rin would go chronic n' come back ta hover over tha wizardz head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude had like a cloud of em bout his ass already, n' up in tha dim light it done cooked up his ass look strange n' sorcerous. Bilbo stood still n' watched-he luddd smoke-rings-and then be blushed ta think how tha fuck proud he had been yesterdizzle mornin of tha smoke-rings he had busted up tha wind over Da Hill. "Now fo' some music!" holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Brin up tha instruments!"

Kili n' Fili rushed fo' they bags n' brought back lil fiddles; Dori, Nori, n' Ori brought up flutes from somewhere inside they coats; Bombur produced a drum from tha hall; Bifur n' Bofur went up too, n' came back wit clarinetz dat they had left among tha strutting-sticks Dwalin n' Balin holla'd: "Excuse me, I left mine up in tha porch!" "Just brang mine up in wit you," holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They came back wit viols as big-ass as themselves, n' wit Thorinz harp wrapped up in a chronic cloth. It was a dope gold-en harp, n' when Thorin struck it tha noize fuckin started all at once, so sudden n' sweet dat Bilbo forgot everythang else, n' was swept away tha fuck into dark landz under strange moons, far over Da Gin N Juice n' straight-up far from his hobbit-hole under Da Hill. Da dark came tha fuck into tha room from tha lil window dat opened up in tha side of Da Hill; tha firelight flickered-it was April-and still they played on, while tha shadow of Gandalfz beard wagged against tha wall. Da dark filled all tha room, n' tha fire took a dirt nap down, n' tha shadows was lost, n' still they played on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And suddenly first one n' then another fuckin started ta rap as they played, deep-throated rappin of tha dwarves up in tha deep placez of they ancient cribs; n' dis is like a fragment of they song, if it can be like they cold lil' woo wop without they beatz. Drop dis like itz hot!

"Far over tha misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep n' caverns old

Our thugged-out asses must away ere break of day

To seek tha pale enchanted gold.

Da dwarvez of yore done cooked up mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringin bells

In places deep, where dark thangs chill,

In hollow halls beneath tha fells.

For ancient mackdaddy n' elvish lord

There nuff a gloamin golden hoard

They shaped n' wrought, n' light they caught

To hide up in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung

Da flowerin stars, on crowns they hung

Da dragon-fire, up in twisted wire

They meshed tha light of moon n' sun.

Far over tha misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep n' caverns old

Our thugged-out asses must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Gobletz they carved there fo' themselves

And harpz of gold; where no playa delves

There lay they long, n' nuff a song

Was sung unheard by pimps and elves.

Da pines was roarin on tha height,

Da windz was beatboxin up in tha night.

Da fire was red, it flamin spread;

Da trees like torches biased wit light,

Da bells was ringin up in tha dale

And pimps looked up wit faces pale;

Da dragonz ire mo' fierce than fire

Laid low they towers n' houses frail.

Da mountain smoked beneath tha moon;

Da dwarves, they heard tha tramp of doom.

They fled they hall ta dyin -fall

Beneath his wild lil' feet, beneath tha moon.

Far over tha misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep n' caverns dim

Our thugged-out asses must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps n' gold from him!"

As they busted tha hobbit felt tha ludd of dope thangs done cooked up by hands and by cunnin n' by magic movin all up in him, a fierce n' jealous ludd, tha desire of tha heartz of dwarves. Then some shiznit Tookish woke up inside him, n' he wished ta go n' peep tha pimped out mountains, n' hear tha pine-trees n' tha waterfalls, n' explore tha caves, n' wear a sword instead of a strutting-stick yo. Dude looked up of tha window. Da stars was up up in a dark sky above tha trees yo. Dude thought of tha jewelz of tha dwarves shinin up in dark caverns. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suddenly up in tha wood beyond Da Gin N Juice a flame leapt up - probably some muthafucka lightin a wood-fire-and he thought of plunderin dragons settlin on his on tha down-low Hill n' kindlin it all ta flames yo. Dude shuddered; n' straight-up quickly he was plain Mista Muthafuckin Bagginz of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude gotz up tremblin yo. Dude had less than half a mind ta fetch tha lamp, n' mo' than half a mind ta pretend to, n' go n' hide behind tha brew barrels up in tha cellar, n' not come up again until all tha dwarves had gone away. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suddenly he found dat tha noize n' tha rappin had stopped, n' they was all lookin at his ass wit eyes shinin up in tha dark.

"Where is yo ass going?" holla'd Thorin, up in a tone dat seemed ta sheezy dat he guessed both halvez of tha hobbitz mind.

"What on some lil light?" holla'd Bilbo apologetically.

"Our thugged-out asses like tha dark," holla'd tha dwarves. "Dark fo' dark bidnizz, muthafucka! There is nuff hours before dawn."

"Of course!" holla'd Bilbo, n' sat down up in a hurry yo. Dude missed tha stool n' sat up in tha fender, knockin over tha poker n' shovel wit a crash. "Hush!" holla'd Gandalf. "Let Thorin speak!" And dis is bow Thorin fuckin started. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Gandalf, dwarves n' Mista Muthafuckin Baggins, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses is not together up in tha crib of our playa n' fellow conspirator, dis most pimpin n' audacious hobbit-may tha afro on his cold-ass toes never fall out, muthafucka! all praise ta his wine n' ale!-" Dude paused fo' breath n' fo' a polite remark from tha hob-bit yo, but tha complimentz was like lost on-poor Bilbo Baggins, whoz ass was waggin his crazy-ass grill up in protest at bein called audacious n' worst of all fellow conspirator, though no noise came out, he was so flummoxed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! So Thorin went on:

"Our thugged-out asses is kicked it wit ta say shit bout our plans, our ways, means, policy n' devices. Our thugged-out asses shall soon before tha break of dizzle start on our long journey, a journey from which a shitload of us, and like all of our asses (except our playa n' counsellor, tha ingenious wizard Gandalf) may never return. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It be a solemn moment. Our objec' is, I take it, well known ta our asses all. To tha estimable Mista Muthafuckin Baggins, n' like ta one and two of tha lil'er dwarves (I think I should be muthafuckin right up in namin Kili n' Fili, fo' instizzle), tha exact situation all up in tha moment may require a lil brief explanation-" This was Thorinz steez yo. Dude was a blingin dwarf. If he had been allowed, he would probably have gone on like dis until he was up of breath, without spittin some lyrics ta any one there 'anythang dat was not known already. But he was rudely interrupted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Poor Bilbo couldn't bear it any longer fo' realz. At may never return he fuckin started ta feel a shriek comin up inside, n' straight-up soon it burst up like tha whistle of a engine comin up of a tunnel fo' realz. All tha dwarves sprang Bp knockin over tha table. Gandalf struck a blue light on tha end of his crazy-ass magic staff, n' up in itz firework glare tha poor lil hobbit could be peeped kneelin on tha hearth-rug, bobbin like a jelly dat was melting. Then he fell flat on tha floor, n' kept on callin up "struck by lightning, struck by lightning!" over n' over again; n' dat was all they could git up of his ass fo' a long-ass time. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So they took his ass n' laid his ass up of tha way on tha drawing-room sofa wit a drink at his wild lil' fuckin elbow, n' they went back ta they dark bidnizz.

"Excitable lil fellow," holla'd Gandalf, as they sat down again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Getz funny queer fitz yo, but he is one of tha best, one of tha best-as fierce as a dragon up in a pinch." If yo ass have ever peeped a dragon up in a pinch, yo ass will realise dat dis was only poetical exaggeration applied ta any hobbit, even ta Oldskool Tookz pimped out-granduncle Bullroarer, whoz ass was so big-ass (for a hobbit) dat he could ride a horse yo. Dude charged tha rankz of tha goblinz of Mount Gram up in tha Battle of the Chronic Fields, n' knocked they mackdaddy Gol-firnbulz head clean off wit a wooden club. It sailed a hundred yardz all up in tha air n' went down a rabbit hole, n' up in dis way tha battle was won n' tha game of Golf invented all up in tha same stupid-ass moment.

In tha meanwhile, however, Bullroarerz gentla descendant was revivin up in tha drawing-room fo' realz. Afta a while n' a drink he crept nervously ta tha door of tha parlour. This is what tha fuck he heard, Gloin bustin lyrics: "Humph!" (or some snort mo' and less like that). "Will he do, do yo ass think, biatch? It be all straight-up well fo' Gandalf ta rap bout dis hobbit bein fierce yo, but one shriek like dat up in a moment of excitement would be enough ta wake tha dragon n' all his bangin relatives, n' bust a cap up in tha lot of us. I think it sounded mo' like fright than excitement, muthafucka! In fact, if it bad not been fo' tha sign on tha door, I should have been shizzle our crazy-ass asses had come ta tha wrong crib fo' realz. As soon as I clapped eyes on tha lil fellow bobbin n' puffin on tha mat, I had mah doubtz yo. Dude looks mo' like a grocer-than a burglar!"

Then Mista Muthafuckin Baggins turned tha handle n' went in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Took side had won. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude suddenly felt he would go without bed n' breakfast ta be thought fierce fo' realz. As fo' lil fellow bobbin on tha mat it almost done cooked up his ass straight-up fierce. Many a time afterwardz tha Baggins part regretted what tha fuck he did now, n' he holla'd ta his dirty ass: "Bilbo, yo ass was a fool; yo ass strutted muthafuckin right up in n' put yo' foot up in dat shit."

"Pardon me," he holla'd, "if I have overheard lyrics dat yo ass was saying. I don't pretend ta understand what tha fuck yo ass is rappin' about, and yo' reference ta burglars yo, but I think I be muthafuckin right up in believing" (this is what tha fuck he called bein on his fuckin lil' dignitizzle) "that yo ass think I be no phat. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I will sheezy yo ass fo'sho. I have no signs on mah door-it was painted a week ago-, n' I be like shizzle yo ass have come ta tha wrong crib fo' realz. As soon as I saw yo' funny faces on tha door-step, I had mah doubts. But treat it as tha muthafuckin right one. Tell mah crazy ass what tha fuck yo ass want done, n' I will try it, if I have ta strutt from here ta tha Eastside of Eastside n' fight tha wild Were-worms up in tha Last Desert. I bad a pimped out-pimped out-pimped out-granduncle once, Bullroarer Took, n' -" "Yes, yes yo, but dat was long ago," holla'd Gloin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "I was rappin' bout yo ass fo'sho fo' realz. And I assure yo ass there be a mark on dis door-the usual one up in tha trade, and used ta be. Burglar wantz a phat thang, nuff Excitement n' reasonable Reward, thatz how tha fuck it aint nuthin but probably read. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo Ass ^an say Expert Treasure-hunta instead of Burglar if yo ass like. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of em do. Itz all tha same stupid-ass ta us. Gandalf busted some lyrics ta our asses dat there was a playa of tha sort up in these partz lookin fo' a Thang at once, n' dat he had arranged fo' a meetin here dis Wednesdizzle tea-time."

"Of course there be a mark," holla'd Gandalf. "I put it there mah dirty ass. For straight-up phat reasons. Yo Ass axed mah crazy ass ta find tha fourteenth playa fo' yo' expedition, n' I chose Mista Muthafuckin Baggins. Just let any one say I chose tha wrong playa and tha wrong house, n' yo ass can quit at thirteen n' have all tha bad luck yo ass like, and go back ta diggin coal."

Dude scowled so angrily at Gloin dat tha dwarf huddled back up in his chair; n' when Bilbo tried ta open his crazy-ass grill ta ask a question, he turned n' frowned at his ass n' stuck oat his bushy eyebrows, till Bilbo shut his crazy-ass grill tight wit a snap. "Thatz muthafuckin right," holla'd Gandalf. "Letz have no mo' argument. I have chosen Mista Muthafuckin Baggins n' dat ought ta !6te enough fo' all of yo ass fo'sho. If I say he be a Burglar, a Burglar he is, and is ghon be when tha time comes. There be a shitload mo' up in his ass than yo ass guess, n' a deal mo' than he has any idea of his dirty ass. Yo Ass may (possibly) all live ta give props ta mah crazy ass yet. Now Bilbo, mah boy, fetch tha lamp, n' letz have lil light on this!"

On tha table up in tha light of a big-ass lamp wit a red shad he spread a piece of parchment rather like a map.

"This was done cooked up by Thror, yo' grandfather, Thorin, he holla'd up in answer ta tha dwarves' buckwild thangs. "It be a plan of tha Mountain." "I don't peep dat dis will help our asses much," holla'd Thorin pissed tha fuck offly afta a glizzle. "I remember tha Mountain well enough n' tha landz bout it fo' realz. And I know where Mirkwood is, n' tha Withered Heath where tha pimped out dragons bred."

"There be a dragon marked up in red on tha Mountain, holla'd Balin, "but it aint nuthin but ghon be easy as fuck enough ta find his ass without that, if ever our crazy-ass asses arrive there." "There is one point dat yo ass haven't noticed," holla'd tha wizard, "and dat is tha secret entrizzle. Yo Ass peep dat rune on tha Westside side, n' tha hand pointin ta it from tha other runes, biatch? That marks a hidden passage ta tha Lower Halls.

"It may have been secret once," holla'd Thorin, "but how tha fuck do our crazy-ass asses know dat it aint nuthin but secret any longer, biatch? Oldskool Smaug had lived there long enough now ta smoke up anythang there is ta know bout em caves."

"Dude may-but he can't have used it fo' muthafuckin years n' years. "Why?" "Because it aint nuthin but too small. 'Five feet high tha door n' three may strutt abreast' say tha runes yo, but Smaug could not creep tha fuck into a hole dat size, not even when he was a lil' dragon, certainly not afta devourin all kindsa muthafuckin of tha dwarves n' pimpz of Dizzy."

"It seems a pimped out big-ass hole ta me," squeaked Bilbo (who had no experience of dragons n' only of hobbit-holes) Dude was gettin buckwild n' interested again, so dat he forgot ta keep his crazy-ass grill shut yo. Dude luddd maps, n' up in his hall there hung a big-ass one of tha Ghetto Round wit all his wild lil' most straight-up bangin struttz marked on it up in red ink. "How tha fuck could such a big-ass door be kept secret from all y'all outside, apart from tha dragon?" he axed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude was only a lil hobbit yo ass must remember.

"In fuckin shitloadz of ways," holla'd Gandalf. "But up in what tha fuck way dis one has been hidden our crazy-ass asses don't give a fuck without goin ta see. From what tha fuck it says on tha map I should guess there be a closed door which has been done cooked up ta look exactly like tha side of tha Mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That is tha usual dwarves' method - I think dat is muthafuckin right, aint it?" "Quite muthafuckin right," holla'd Thorin.

"Also," went on Gandalf, "I forgot ta mention dat wit tha map went a key, a lil' small-ass n' curious key yo. Here it is!" he holla'd, n' handed ta Thorin a key wit a long-ass barrel n' intricate wards, done cooked up of silver. "Keep it safe!" "Indeed I will," holla'd Thorin, n' he fastened it upon a fine chain dat hung bout his neck n' under his jacket. "Now thangs begin ta look mo' hopeful. This shizzle altas em much for-the better. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So far our crazy-ass asses have had no clear idea what tha fuck ta do. Our thugged-out asses thought of goin Eastside, as on tha down-low n' careful as our crazy-ass asses could, as far as tha Long Lake fo' realz. Afta dat tha shizzle would begin." "A long time before that, if I know anythang bout tha loadz Eastside," interrupted Gandalf.

"Our thugged-out asses might go from there up along tha River Hustlin," went on Thorin takin no notice, "and so ta tha ruinz of Dizzy-the oldschool hood up in tha valley there, under tha shadow of tha Mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But our crazy-ass asses none of our asses dug tha idea of tha Front Gate. Da river runs muthafuckin right up of it all up in tha pimped out cliff all up in tha Downtown of tha Mountain, n' up of it comes tha dragon too-far too often, unless he has chizzled."

"That would be no phat," holla'd tha wizard, "not without a mighty Warrior, even a Hero. I tried ta find one; but warriors is busy fightin one another up in distant lands, n' up in dis neighbourhood heroes is scarce, and simply lot ta be found. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Slyrics up in these partz is mostly blunt, n' axes is used fo' trees, n' shieldz as cradlez and dish-covers; n' dragons is comfortably far-off (and therefore legendary). That is why I settled on burglary-especially when I remembered tha existence of a Side-door fo' realz. And here is our lil Bilbo Baggins, tha burglar, tha chosen n' selected burglar. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So now letz git on n' cook up some fuckin plans."

"Straight-up well then," holla'd Thorin, "supposin tha burglar-expert gives our asses some ideas and suggestions." Dude turned wit mock-politenizz ta Bilbo. "First I should like ta know a bit mo' bout thangs," holla'd he, feelin all trippin n' a bit shaky inside yo, but so far still lookishly determined ta go on wit thangs. "I mean bout tha gold n' tha dragon, n' all that, n' how tha fuck it gotz there, n' whoz ass it belongs to, n' so on n' further." "Bless me!" holla'd Thorin, "haven't yo ass gotz a map, biatch? n' didn't yo ass hear our song, biatch? n' haven't our crazy-ass asses been rappin' bout all dis fo' hours?"

"All tha same, I should like it all plain n' clear," holla'd he obstinizzlely, puttin on his bidnizz manna (usually reserved fo' gangstas whoz ass tried ta borrow scrilla off him), n' bustin his dopest ta step tha fuck up wise n' prudent n' professionizzle n' live up ta Gandalfz recommendation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Also I should like ta know bout risks, out-of-pocket expenses, time required n' remuneration, n' so forth"-by which he meant: "What be I goin ta git up of it, biatch? n' be I goin ta come back kickin it?"

"O straight-up well," holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Long ago up in mah grandfather Throrz time our gang was driven up of tha far North, n' came back wit all they wealth n' they tools ta dis Mountain on tha map. It had been discovered by mah far izzlestor, Thrain tha Oldskool yo, but now they mined n' they tunnelled n' they done cooked up huger halls n' pimped outa workshops -and up in addizzle I believe they found a phat deal of gold n' a pimped out nuff jewels too fo' realz. Anyway they grew immensely rich n' hyped, n' mah grandfather was Mack under tha Mountain again n' treated wit pimped out reverence by tha mortal men, whoz ass lived ta tha South, n' was gradually spreadin up tha Hustlin River as far as tha valley overshadowed by tha Mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They built tha merry hood of Dizzy there up in em days. Macks used ta bust fo' our smiths, n' reward even tha least skilful most richly. Fathers would beg our asses ta take they lil playas as apprentices, n' pay our asses handsomely, especially up in chicken-supplies, which our crazy-ass asses never bothered ta grow and find fo' ourselves fo' realz. Altogether em was phat days fo' us, n' tha poorest of our asses had scrilla ta spend n' ta lend, n' leisure ta make dope thangs just fo' the. funk of it, not ta drop a rhyme of da most thugged-out marvellous n' magical toys, tha like of which aint ta be found up in tha ghetto now-a-days. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So mah grandfatherz halls became full of armour n' jewels n' carvings n' cups, n' tha toy-market of Dizzy was tha wonder of tha North.

"Undoubtedly dat was what tha fuck brought tha dragon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dragons steal gold n' jewels, yo ass know, from pimps n' elves n' dwarves, wherever they can find them; n' they guard they plunder as long as they live (which is practically forever, unless they is capped), n' never smoke up a brass rang of dat shit. Indeed they hardly know a phat bit of work from a bad, though they probably gotz a phat notion of tha current market value; n' they can't cook up a muthafuckin thang fo' themselves, not even mend a lil loose scale of they armour. There was fuckin shitloadz of dragons up in tha Uptown up in em days, n' gold was probably gettin scarce up there, wit tha dwarves flyin downtown and gettin capped, n' all tha general waste n' destruction dat dragons make goin from bad ta worse. There was a most specially greedy, strong n' wicked worm called Smaug. One dizzle he flew up tha fuck into tha air n' came south. Da first our crazy-ass asses heard of it was a noise like a hurricane comin from tha North, n' tha pine-trees on tha Mountain creakin n' crackin up in tha wind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Some of tha dwarves whoz ass happened ta be outside (I was one luckily -a fine adventurous lad up in em days, always wanderin about, n' it saved mah thuglife dat day)-well, from a phat way off our crazy-ass asses saw tha dragon settle on our mountain up in a spout of flame. Then he came down tha slopes n' when he reached tha woodz they all went up up in fire. By dat time all tha bells was ringin up in Dizzy n' tha warriors was arming. Da dwarves rushed up of they pimped out gate; but there was tha dragon waitin fo' them. None escaped dat way. Da river rushed up up in screw n' a fog fell on Dizzy, n' up in tha fog tha dragon came on em n' destroyed most of tha warriors-the usual unaiiight story, it was only too common up in em days. Then he went back n' crept up in all up in tha Front Gate n' routed up all tha halls, n' lanes, n' tunnels, alleys, cellars, mansions n' passages fo' realz. Afta dat there was no dwarves left kickin it inside, n' he took all they wealth fo' his dirty ass. Probably, fo' dat is tha dragons' way, he has piled it all up up in a pimped out heap far inside, n' chills on it fo' a bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Lata he used ta crawl up of tha pimped out gate n' come by night ta Dizzy, n' carry away gangstas, especially maidens, ta eat, until Dizzy was ruined, n' all tha gangstas dead and gone. What goes on there now I don't give a fuck fo' certain yo, but I don't suppose every last muthafuckin muthafucka lives nearer ta tha Mountain than tha far edge of tha Long Lake now-a-days.

"Da few of our asses dat was well outside sat n' wept up in hiding, n' cursed Smaug; n' there our crazy-ass asses was unexpectedly joined by mah daddy n' mah grandfather wit singed beards. They looked straight-up grim but they holla'd straight-up lil. When I axed how tha fuck they had gotz away, they busted some lyrics ta mah crazy ass ta hold mah tongue, n' holla'd dat one dizzle up in tha propa time I should know fo' realz. Afta dat our crazy-ass asses went away, n' our crazy-ass asses have had togit our livings as dopest our crazy-ass asses could up n' down tha lands, often enough sinkin as low as blacksmith-work and even coalmining. But our crazy-ass asses have never forgotten our jacked treasure fo' realz. And even now, when I will allow our crazy-ass asses gotz a phat bit laid by n' is not so badly off"-here Thorin stroked tha gold chain round his neck-"we still mean ta git it back, n' ta brang our curses home ta Smaug-if our crazy-ass asses can.

"I have often wondered bout mah fatherz n' mah grandfatherz escape. I peep now they must have had a private Side-door which only they knew about. But apparently they done cooked up a map, n' I should like ta know how tha fuck Gandalf gotz hold of it, n' why it did not come down ta me, tha muthafuckin rightful heir." "I did not 'get hold of it,' I was given it," holla'd tha wizard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Yo Crazy-Ass grandfather Thror was capped, yo ass remember, up in tha minez of Moria by Azog tha Goblin -" "Curse his name, yes," holla'd Thorin.

"And Thrain yo' daddy went away on tha twenty-first of April, a hundred muthafuckin years ago last Thursday, n' has never been peeped by yo ass since-" "True, true," holla'd Thorin.

"Well, yo' daddy gave mah crazy ass dis ta give ta you; n' if I have chosen mah own time n' way of handin it over, yo ass can hardly blame me, thankin bout tha shizzle I had ta find yo ass fo'sho. Yo Crazy-Ass daddy could not remember his own name when he gave mah crazy ass tha paper, n' he never busted some lyrics ta mah crazy ass yours; so on tha whole I think I ought ta be praised n' gave props ta. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Here it is," holla'd he handin tha map ta Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "I don't understand," holla'd Thorin, n' Bilbo felt he would have dug ta say tha same. Da explanation did not seem ta explain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Yo Crazy-Ass grandfather," holla'd tha wizard slowly n' grimly, "gave tha map ta his fuckin lil hustla fo' safety before he went ta tha minez of Moria. Yo Crazy-Ass daddy went away ta try his fuckin luck wit tha map afta yo' grandfather was capped; n' fuckin shitloadz of adventurez of a most unpleasant sort he had yo, but he never gotz near tha Mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. How tha fuck he gotz there I don't give a fuck yo, but I found his ass a prisona up in tha dungeonz of tha Necromizzler."

"Whatever was yo ass bustin there?" axed Thorin wit a shudder, n' all tha dwarves shivered.

"Never yo ass mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was findin thangs out, as usual; n' a nasty dangerous bidnizz it was. Even I, Gandalf, only just escaped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I tried ta save yo' daddy yo, but it was too late yo. Dude was witless n' wandering, n' had forgotten almost everythang except tha map n' tha key." "Our thugged-out asses have long ago paid tha goblinz of Moria," holla'd Thorin; "we must give a thought ta tha Necromizzler." "Don't be absurd, muthafucka! Dude be a enemy like beyond tha powerz of all tha dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from tha four cornerz of tha ghetto. Right back up up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da one muthafuckin thang yo' daddy wished was fo' his fuckin lil hustla ta read tha map n' bust tha key. Da dragon n' tha Mountain is mo' than big-ass enough tasks fo' you!"

"Hear, hear!" holla'd Bilbo, n' accidentally holla'd it aloud, "Hear what?" they all holla'd turnin suddenly towardz him, n' he was so flustered dat he answered "Hear what tha fuck I have gotz ta say!" "Whatz that?" they axed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Well, I should say dat yo ass ought ta go Eastside n' gotz a look round.

Afta all there is tha Side-door, n' dragons must chill sometimes, I suppose.

If yo ass sit on tha doorstep long enough, I daresay yo ass will think of some shiznit fo' realz. And well, don't yo ass know, I think our crazy-ass asses have talked long enough fo' one night, if yo ass peep what tha fuck I mean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. What bout bed, n' a early start, n' all that, biatch? I will give yo ass a phat breakfast before yo ass go."

"Before our crazy-ass asses go, I suppose yo ass mean," holla'd Thorin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Aren't yo ass tha burglar, biatch? And aint chillin on tha door-step yo' thang, not ta drop a rhyme of gettin inside tha door, biatch? But I smoke bout bed n' breakfast. I like eggs wit mah ham, when startin on a journey: fried not poached, n' mind yo ass don't break 'em."

Afta all tha others had ordered they breakfastz without so much as a please (which annoyed Bilbo straight-up much), they all gotz up. Da hobbit had ta find room fo' em all, n' filled all his spare-rooms n' done cooked up bedz on chairs n' sofas, before he gotz em all stowed n' went ta his own lil bed straight-up chillaxed n' not altogether aiiight. One muthafuckin thang he did make his crazy-ass mind up bout was not ta bother ta git up straight-up early n' cook all y'all elsez wretched breakfast. Da Tookishnizz was bustin off, n' he was not now like so shizzle dat he was goin on any journey up in tha mornin fo' realz. As he lay up in bed he could hear Thorin still hummin ta his dirty ass up in tha dopest bedroom next ta him:

"Far over tha misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep n' caverns old

Our thugged-out asses must away, ere break of day,

To find our long-forgotten gold."

Bilbo went ta chill wit dat up in his wild lil' fuckin ears, n' it gave his ass straight-up uncomfortable dreams. It was long afta tha break of day, when he woke up.