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Hod - The King Of Sweden 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

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

With a wall of Marshalls
He owns the fucking stage,
But bathe him in green or blue
He'll burn up with rage,
For those colours,
So I'm told,
May detract His glory

So listen well my metal friend,
Or He'll unleash the fury...

Hail The King Of Sweden !