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It's the end of the week
And your stomach is very upset
Because it's running out of something
Sherry, Whiskey, Pils or Port
But you have plans for this evening in the offing
You can hardly wait to see all those pints
Then you will finally be in the pub with your mates
This evening is still young with many drinks ahead of you
/>But a poorly trained friend
gets the hiccups after just one pint
I say take a good look
how King Pintenman does that
King Pintenman's policy
It is a regime that can hardly be tighter
This leader marks our fate
The Pinten Man, Our God
You are already starting to notice
That the pilsners work well
You your mind wants even more
You order a cold gentleman
But after a few hours the condition becomes very critical
It deteriorates with any form of motor skills
You hang at the bar, you wooden comrade
But you mumble in a language that the bartender does not understand
Then you think of those times
That you were able to learn again
How that drunk Pintman
Sublime you can order a pint
The policy of King Pintenman
Is a regime that could hardly be tighter
This leader labels our fate
The Pintenman, our God
The policy of King Pintenman
Is a regime that could hardly be tighter
This leader controls our fate
The Pintenman, our God