I'm in a fairway to go mad
For round about me golfers shriek,
And I can't understand, I'll add,
The golfing cleek.
My eyes get brassie whe they broach
That subject; each one of the clan
Just seems to me, on his approach,
A bogie man.
I cannot foursome to be still
For they are under such a thrall
That, lacking audience, they will
Address the ball.
What's that? You say you're weary too
Of all this golfiac hot air?
Comrade in pain, I welcome you,
Just putter there!