Kongen Af Provinsen - Peter Belli, Per Vers

Derude hvor kragerne vender

Er der en konge

Yeah yeah yeah

I mørket er lys som han tænder

Rejs jer for kongen

Yeah yeah yeah]

Vers 1:

Han er kongen

Der aldrig flyttede fra hjemmebanen til betonen

Blev dér hvor det året rundt er udenfor sæsonen

Og satsede hele dynen, hver eneste jeton

Ligeglad med statistikken og kronikken i Politiken

Om at der something rotten i bananrepublikken

Fuck tudebanden, der kalder det udkanten

Han holder stand og er ikk' mæ' på studehandlen

Engang var her så pænt, og der var penge at tjene

Men så blev der indlagt dræn

Busforbindelsen har fået en blodprop

Kultur på sultekur men han holder sit hoved op

For han er vant til at vente

Men tæsk er ekstra træls når der tre kvarter til en landbetjent

Han bli’r hængende, det gør ham ikk' til hængerøv

Det gør ham til en konge, kongen længe leve

Vers 2:

Vi stiller om til vores mand i marken

Marken er mejet meget langt væk, men han kan sagtens

Selvom de sagde han ikke ku'

Og havde eet råd: det ka' ikk' nytt' du ska' flyt' hvis du bli’e til noget!

For ifølge ny forskning er yderligere forskning overflødig

Hans fødeegn er underlødig

Men kære landsmænd, lyttere og seere

Firs procent af folket bor hér!

Man danser om den varme grød, i en foxtrot af smalltalk

Det ‘en herrepopulær holdsport

For det er forbudt at sige — lissom «Voldemort»

Men alle tænker det — fra Lolland og til nord for Aalborg:

«Her hvor vi bor er ingen kære mor

Borgmester eller bedstemor;

Ingen syg moster, ingen investorer»

It’s the same ol' song

Men han nægter at synge med, det ‘derfor han er kong'!

Out there where the crows turn

Is there a king

Yeah yeah yeah

In the dark is light as he turns on

Arise for the king

Yeah yeah yeah]

Verse 1:

He is the king

Who never moved from the home court to the concrete

Stayed where it is out of season all year round

And bet the whole quilt, every single token

Do not care about the statistics and the article in Politiken

About that something rotten in the Banana Republic

Fuck the spout gang that calls it the fringe

He holds his own and is not a 'must' at the student trade

Once upon a time here was so nice and there was money to be made

But then drains were installed

The bus connection has got a blood clot

Culture on hunger cure but he keeps his head up

Because he's used to waiting

But beatings are extra tiring when there are three quarters of an hour for a land officer

He gets hung up, it does not make him a hangover

It makes him a king, the king long live

Verse 2:

We turn to our man in the field

The field is mowed very far away, but he can easily

Even though they said he could not

And had one piece of advice: it's not 'new' you should 'move' if you become something!

Because according to new research, further research is superfluous

His birthplace is inferior

But dear countrymen, listeners and viewers

Eighty percent of the people live here!

One dances around the hot porridge, in a foxtrot of smalltalk

It's a men's popular team sport

For it is forbidden to say - like «Voldemort»

But everyone thinks so - from Lolland to north of Aalborg:

"Here where we live is no dear mother

Mayor or grandmother;

No sick aunt, no investors »

It's the same ol 'song

But he refuses to sing along, that 'why he is king'!