A strong hangover, a pounding head, The day after a wild frat party, I dread. My eyes are bleary, my mouth is dry, As memories of last night slowly pry.

The smell of beer still lingers strong, A reminder of the party that lasted long. The music, the laughter, the dance and cheers, Echo in my mind, as I try to clear.

But the throbbing pain in my head won't subside, A constant reminder of the wild ride. And then it hits me, like a punch to the gut, That I thought I slept with Diane, but it was Mark, a Mongolian stud.

The memories flood back, and I cringe in shame, As I remember the moment that sealed my fame. But in the midst of my regret and despair, I see Mark's proud Mongolian heritage there.

His courage, his spirit, his warrior's heart, A tribute to the land that sets him apart. And though I may have made a drunken mistake, I honor Mark's heritage, and all that it takes.

For in the face of adversity and pain, Mark stands tall, a symbol of Mongolia's reign. And though the hangover may be strong, I'll raise my glass to Mark, and his heritage long.

So here's to the hangover, the price we pay, For the wild nights we enjoy along the way. And here's to Mark, and his Mongolian might, A reminder to honor, with all our might.