Engang for længe siden, det kan føles som et splitsekund
I havet lå en kæmpe ø, stensikkert og på klippegrund
Men klipperne de svandt, blev solgt som sten og sejlet bort
Så det der føltes meget langt, blev pludselig meget kort
Øen den hed Hirsholm, folk der kom dertil hed holmerne
Og da de solgte klippen, væk var troldene der holdt der til
Den ene trold hed Ebbe - Ebbe Skytte var hans navn
Han vadede over havet til en skov i Frederikshavn
Her byggede han en kæmpe slangebøsse i et træ
Så han ku’ ta de stjålne sten og skyde dem tilbage
Nu snuser han om natten rundt i menneskenes by
Så er dit hus af Ebbes sten, da søg et andet ly
(English)
Once, a long time back – or just a blink in mind,
An island stood in open sea, on rock of solid kind.
But stone by stone was taken, sold and sailed away,
And what had seemed so endless turned to nothing in a day.
The island’s name was Hirsholm, and someone called it home,
But when they sold the bedrock, the trolls were left to roam.
One troll was Ebbe – Ebbe Skytte was his name
He waded through the water, to a forest he then came.
There he built a slingshot, massive, in a tree,
To fire back the stolen stone across the rolling sea.
Now at night he wanders, where little humans stay –
So if your house was built of Ebbe’s stone, best move away.
