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Golfing

by

Tom Tannehill

There ainít no wicked-er game then golf it drives me up the wall.
I wonder why I cater to that pockmarked little ball.
The object is to bang the thing from one hole to the next
And on and on ad nauseum it makes me damned perplexed.

Iíve seen men cry and seen some whine this game so irritates
And all because that little ball just wonít cooperate.
Golf balls donít got no morals; got no alee-gee-ance.
Theyíd rather lead than follow so we donít have much a chance.

But every once in a great while theyíll conform to what we will
And do the things we ask them to and we forget their bitter pill.
So Iíll play this stupid game awhile Ďtil when my time has come
And I smack that noxious little ball and make a hole-in-one!

Fat chance you say? Well maybe. But all I can do is try.
And if I donít Iíll do what most good duffers do... Iíll lie!

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