Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
How lowly are thy nobles.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your warriors have no balls.
Thy king and queen are peasant born,
Her coat is ripped, his dress is torn,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
How lowly are thy nobles.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your arts they are distressful.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your revels are so restful.
Your tapestries are like throw rugs,
Your armor it is full of bugs,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your arts they are distressful.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your men refuse temptation,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh Atenveldt,
Because they use castration.
Your warriors they fight like mice,
Your unkempt beards are full of lice,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your men refuse temptation.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your women are frustrated,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
They never are prostrated.
And so they search for other ways,
To pass the time on endless days,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Your women are frustrated.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Our sympathies go with you.
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
And we must bid you adieu.
Because we're such a mighty shire,
We shall not waste our canon-fire,
Oh, Atenveldt, oh, Atenveldt,
Our sympathies go with you.