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LYRICS:
The guy that sat on his potato put his socks around his neck
Oh, even I will touch the junk
it was a dog who bit me for the burger meat
I got bit
Cold shrimp
I gotta find my sticks
Yeah, baby
Frightened nipple. Frightened nipple
The Ice God of Hungary
Sailed across the sea
To become a deity
And while the doctor played his flute
The captain sailed his crew
Through the Strait of Avalon
Ice God of Hungary said “these souls are mine”
Ice God said “bend a knee or be blown away”
“I don’t mess around, get your back to the sky and your face to the ground”
Baby capricorns and cinnamon sins
Like a cherry dove he sang a song “la la la la la la la la”
And the fires danced all night
Cold shrimp
Gonna find my sticks
Yeah, baby
Frightened nipple. Frightened nipple
The Ice God of Hungary
Sailed across the sea
To become a deity
And then the hammer that he forged
In flames of red and orange
Came down in perfect symmetry
Ice God of Hungary said “these souls are mine”
Ice God said “bend a knee or be blown away”
“I don’t mess around, get your back to the sky and your face to the ground”
Till your shoulders start to burn from the dedication
Looking like an effigy ‘cause the god said go
Blood was not part of the prophecy
Still the snow had turned to pink
Daylight, daylight, there’s no daylight, daylight
Then the Ice God came across the sea
Made his way to Hungary (where was the sun?)
Daylight, daylight, there’s no daylight, daylight
The Ice God of Hungary
Sailed across the sea
To become a deity
And there in temples of the night
The god negated light
While bathing in divinity
Ice God of Hungary said “these souls are mine”
Ice God said “bend a knee or be blown away”
“I don’t mess around, get your back to the sky and your face to the ground”
Till the castles start to burn and the halls are vacant
No children will sing
Blood was not part of the prophecy
Still the snow had turned to pink
Daylight, daylight, there’s no daylight, daylight
Then the Ice God came across the sea
Made his way to Hungary (where was the sun?)
Blood was not part of the prophecy
Still the snow had turned to pink
Till the castles start to burn, burn, burn
No children will sing