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'