Agent 27 (witherwings7) wrote,
Agent 27

  • Mood:

Oh Joy!


This calls for a song!

Our country reek of trees
Our yacks are really large
And they smell like rotting beef carcasses
And we have to clean up after them
And our saddle soars are the best
We proudly wear women's clothing
And searing sand blows up our skirts

And buzzards, they soar overhead
And poisonous snakes devour us whole
Our bones will bleach in the sun
And we will probably go to * * * *
And that is our great reward
For being the - uh - roy-yal
Canadian kilted yaksmen

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