If orcs were minstrels. To the tune of Gil galad was an elven king. Not to be taken seriously, just a laugh.

Gothmog was a balrog king

Of him the orcs tunelessly sing

The last whose realm was dark and fiery

Between the mountains and the sea.

His whip was long, his axe was keen

His flaming head afar was seen,

Of Angband's thralls the countless cries

Were mirrored in his pitiless eyes.

But long ago he rode away

And where he dwelleth none can say

For 'gainst Ecthelion he fell in spar

In Gondolin where the fountains are.