My Dear
Friend...
A friend I hold dear is the glass of
the root beer
When will she come to visit me
here
I remember her taste, oh I miss her so
much
I sit by my vise shedding a
tear
The state is so nice, at least that's
what they say
"Come here to Sweden, you're welcome to
stay."
New ideas don't count as they hear what
they want
If they opened their mind, she
could be on her way
An ocean so wide between me and my
bride
They know it so well but won't give her the
ride
That's what they do, the selective
bastards
They don't want any rednecks to stay on
this side
Politely I asked them to bring her to
me
They got their chance but now they
will see
I'm tired of waiting and
until they will listenTheir days will be rough... oh, I gar-on-tee
~ Nick,
the Swedish Redneck
