Guide To Golf
What modern madness is this?
That when the weather’s fine, a man thinks
Here’s a chance for some four-ball jinks
With some time out on the links?
Followed by the nineteenth hole
And a skinful of drinks?
For when he’s finally well-oiled
Out in the hot sun he’s been boiled
And round eighteen holes he’s just toiled
It only amounts to “a good walk spoiled”.
And though he’s frightfully keen
At the Royal & Ancient to be seen
Men such as he never say what they actually mean
They talk in a jargon or code
They want to be “a la mode”
They want to be the boss
As they stride over the moss
In the search for a Birdie, or an Eagle
Or an ever-elusive albatross.
But if you’re looking for these birds
Why use these ridiculous words?
And the equipment sounds totally dud –
Is a club or an iron any good?
A sand-wedge, or a driver that’s stood?
And what’s a niblick, or even a wood?
They’re chipping, and driving and slicing
Or pitching and putting (to put on the icing)
And with fashion sense they’re definitely dicing.
And everyone who plays, every old fogey
Doesn’t want to be caught with a bogey
When striding around with their trolley
Nobody wants to look like a wally
Then they’re stroking, or playing from scratch
And washing their balls during a match.
But these badly-dressed fools
With their bags full of expensive tools
Who follow these arcane regulations and rules
Amateur or professional, whatever their role
Have just one thing as their goal
These men would give up their very soul
If the full truth were finally tol’
Just to knock a bloody ball into a hole!
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