High upon the hills of Lion’s Landing
Billowed with the winds of Aronlee
Clad in olive gold that day lay standing
The heaving spectre hulk of Alan B.

The grip lay worn upon his haggard sceptre
The kingdom lay in ruins at his feet
The halls shall now forever reek the nectar
Beswelled by him as well his creature Pete

Oh hail the mighty righteous kingdom razer!
Regale in soaring song and tankard wines!
Beware his magic sword of Jedi laser!
And his heaven-sent Ford Taurus of divines!

So cast aside your tales of golden idols
Hold high your iPod Nano of the Free!
Forsake your worthless family, home and titles
For the sultan saviour king of Aronlee