Our country reeks of trees Our yaks are really large And they smell like rotting beef carcuses And we have to clean up after them And our sadle sores are the best We proudly wear womens' clothing And seering sandblows up our skirts! And the buzzards, they soar overhead And poisonous snakes will devour us whole And our bones will bleach in the sun And we will probably go to (censored) And that is our great reward For being the Ro-oy-oy-al Canadian Kilted Yaksmen!