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Our country reeks of trees / Our yaks are really large /
And they smell like rotting beef carcasses /
And we have to clean up after them /
And our saddle sores are the best /
We proudly wear womens clothing /
And searing sand blows up our skirts /
And the buzzards they soar overhead /
And poisonous snakes will devour us whole /
Our bones will bleach in the sun /
And we will probably go to hell /
And that is our great reward /
For being the-uh ro-yal canadian kilted yaksmen
And they smell like rotting beef carcasses /
And we have to clean up after them /
And our saddle sores are the best /
We proudly wear womens clothing /
And searing sand blows up our skirts /
And the buzzards they soar overhead /
And poisonous snakes will devour us whole /
Our bones will bleach in the sun /
And we will probably go to hell /
And that is our great reward /
For being the-uh ro-yal canadian kilted yaksmen
Feb 4, 2005 8:14 PM
