Oh noble broth of tatties and fish
Was ever there such a regal dish
To guide fine men through heather and gorse
To face up to danger and keep them on course

Braving the perils of the Queen's and the King's
And the gravest of danger the PGA brings
Armed only with driver, iron, putter and wedge
Nerves shattered and frayed, close to the edge

The brutal rough stands proud and tall
To swallow up the wayward ball
Wide grinning bunker, deep dark lake
Ready to punish the slightest mistake

And then at last as the home hole nears
The band of lions has conquered its fears
They'll soon raise the quaich and take of a drink
To honour thine glory, oh mighty Cullen Skink