"Our country reeks of trees,
Our yaks are very 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 women's 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!"