Anxious moments on the green at Boomerang Farm
Ray Jowett and Jim Liparts
GOF (Grumpy Old Fart) GOLF
Golf is a game full of strange fickle tricks
And players use clubs that look much like sticks
Pull ’em out of a bag and wave ’em about
Take a swing, hit the ball and “fore” they shout
Some folk like to fit in a round every day
But do they get better? I really can’t say.
One thing’s for certain, as a game it’s damn tough
If you don’t play enough, you end up in the rough
It’s great when you hit ’em straight and far
Even better when you score a very rare par
But swing a clunker and you can drop a dunker
Or bogey a shot from the dreaded sand bunker
Now settle down tree huggers, don’t get cross
Just ’cos Jimmy skited he hit an albatross
Our terms include birdies, and a much-desired eagle
To find his lost balls, Mick often resorts to a beagle
Hole in one! Bloody hell, I’d settle for eight!
Step up, address the ball don’t hesitate
Straight down the fairway, that’d be nice
Shit, damn and poop, I’ve gone and sliced.
Rocker Bon Scott played golf but never did well
He always seemed stuck on the Fairway to Hell
Presidents, too, have tried their hand at the game
but sadly for them the result’s much the same
Golf is a game full of strange fickle tricks
And players use clubs that look much like sticks
Pull ’em out of a bag and wave ’em about
Take a swing, hit the ball and “fore” they shout
Some folk like to fit in a round every day
But do they get better? I really can’t say.
One thing’s for certain, as a game it’s damn tough
If you don’t play enough, you end up in the rough
It’s great when you hit ’em straight and far
Even better when you score a very rare par
But swing a clunker and you can drop a dunker
Or bogey a shot from the dreaded sand bunker
Now settle down tree huggers, don’t get cross
Just ’cos Jimmy skited he hit an albatross
Our terms include birdies, and a much-desired eagle
To find his lost balls, Mick often resorts to a beagle
Hole in one! Bloody hell, I’d settle for eight!
Step up, address the ball don’t hesitate
Straight down the fairway, that’d be nice
Shit, damn and poop, I’ve gone and sliced.
Rocker Bon Scott played golf but never did well
He always seemed stuck on the Fairway to Hell
Presidents, too, have tried their hand at the game
but sadly for them the result’s much the same
Dean Crerar and Chic Dawson
Golfers gather each night at the nineteenth hole
It’s the place they grow older and bolder
With a few grogs they become kings of the green
And recall shots no-one else seemed to have seen
Men behaving badly and dressed even worse
For golf widows at home, the game is a curse
Or maybe blessing, ah, some personal time
Until he gets home full of beer, whinge and whine
Now two holy prophets were playing a round
And Moses reckoned his advice was sound
“Come on, Lord, use a six for this drive
You’ll never lift it enough if yoåu use that five”
Said his mate “I saw Tiger play a similar shot
A five iron he used, got him out of a spot”
So he swung but not with the care that he oughta
And cursed as it drifted, splash, into the water
He had to go out a long way to retrieve the ball
And walked on top of the lake as he did his trawl
“Who’s he think he is? Jesus Christ?” Asked a bloke in a hood
Yes he is, said Moses, but he thinks he’s Tiger Woods.
© Ian McDougall May 2012
It’s the place they grow older and bolder
With a few grogs they become kings of the green
And recall shots no-one else seemed to have seen
Men behaving badly and dressed even worse
For golf widows at home, the game is a curse
Or maybe blessing, ah, some personal time
Until he gets home full of beer, whinge and whine
Now two holy prophets were playing a round
And Moses reckoned his advice was sound
“Come on, Lord, use a six for this drive
You’ll never lift it enough if yoåu use that five”
Said his mate “I saw Tiger play a similar shot
A five iron he used, got him out of a spot”
So he swung but not with the care that he oughta
And cursed as it drifted, splash, into the water
He had to go out a long way to retrieve the ball
And walked on top of the lake as he did his trawl
“Who’s he think he is? Jesus Christ?” Asked a bloke in a hood
Yes he is, said Moses, but he thinks he’s Tiger Woods.
© Ian McDougall May 2012
