Macarthur parked his bicycle between two tartan vans
On Burns night in the Trossachs, 'twas the gathering of the clans
An evening of poetry, of rhymes and songs and ditties
While serving wenches strolled around with big plates of Mcvities
Someone read a poem about a scottish cat Mcavity
But mostly it was bawdy stuff of lewdness and depravity
Macintosh was soaking wet, he'd got caught in the rain
He'd come from Mull across the sea by ferry with MacBrayne
McGaskill finally made it after battling with the weather
Ignoring forecasts he relied upon his lucky heather
'To a haggis' was the toast 'You've really done us proud'
Macallan held his glass aloft then knocked back a Macleod
Mcguigan threw a punch cos someone drank Mcewan's bitter
A serving girl ducked just in time before a beer glass hit her
Macbeth pulled out a knife and someone bashed him with a chair
Whirling kilts and brawling kelts were flashing everywhere
Macmillan nursed a nasty bruise where something struck his neck
One for the road Macadam said and fell flat on the deck
While all around were losing theirs McGuiness kept his head
‘I’ve had enough,’ Mclaren said, into the night he sped.
Macrae was kippered as he called, ‘Let’s have three rousing cheers -
Happy Burns night everyone, we'll see you all next year'