**MacAllan’s Endgame**
*Verse*
Glasses clink in the amber light
Twelve years aged, a silent fight
Every move calculated, cold and slow
The king will fall before the final show
*Chorus*
Checkmate in whiskey, neat and pure
No second chances, nothing sure
MacAllan’s endgame, drink it down
The crown is heavy, wear the crown
*Outro*
Last sip burns, the table clears
Victory tastes like twenty years