"Cheers!" All sitting in the bar repeated the loud cry. They raised their glasses full of firewhiskey and started to sing.
The old Hungarian Horntail loved to hoard the gold,
He'd chase it, dig for it, but oft, he'd come up cold,
Whenever he would find some; he'd put it in his hoard,
But once the dragon-slayer came, he was sent to the dragon-morgue.
It was a simple folk tune that had a nice harmony. Most knew it, and everyone loved it. Parties in the Leaky Cauldron never felt right without a song.