Lyrics
One fateful morn, a child was born, in June of 63
To be a master string-smith, His destiny would be
The gods pulled out all stops and give him tasty skills
With flying picks and big high kicks he dishes out the thrills
Hail the king of Sweden
Hail the king of Sweden
Ten feet tall with giant hands and fire in his eyes
He has a mane of purest silk we're tellin' you no lies
A lot of twats play fender strats, but he is the exception
He makes it cool, because he rules, and gives us all erections
Hail the king of Sweden
Hail the king of Sweden
With a wall of Marshalls he owns the fucking stage
But bathe him in green or blue he'll burn with rage
For those colours so I'm told just may detract His glory
So listen well my metal friend or He'll unleash the fury
Hail the king of Sweden
Hail the king of Sweden
