At last we arrived, On Fraser's special day, The vicar was half dead, And the best man was a gay. The congregation numbered sixty, Reflecting Fraser's lack of friends, But hardly surprising, Given how is face offends. The drinking started at three, And the dinner was not 'til eight, There were fist-i-cuffs, Over the last, fetid canapé. The dancing followed speeches, Which were a tad risqué, The best man demanded a chance, To catch the bride's bouquet. The evening degenerated, Into a scrum of drunken souls, The men danced like spastics, And the women like new born foals. All in all the hangovers, Reflected a very pleasant day, The bride was ace, the groom was fat, And the best man was a gay.