I love its fucking mountains
I love its fucking fields
Its national dress is stubbies
Its national dish is eels
I fucking love Moravia
Moravia's fucking tops
There is no lager shortage
'Cause all we grow is hops
We all love good King Olaf
He likes to drink and smoke
He likes to light his back draft
As kings go he's our bloke
We never won at sporting
We've never really cared
We go to the Olympics
Always under-prepared
I fucking love Moravia
Moravia's fucking great
We live on beer and sausages
We're all overweight
If you come to fucking Moravia
You'll have a fucking ball
If you come to Moravia
Give fucking Keith a call.