Sunday, April 18, 2010


Editor's Note: This poem seemed appropriate for this week since golf season is almost in full swing (pun intended).

Some friends of mine are golfers,
And they say it's lots of fun,
So I lets 'em take me out one day
To show me how it's done;
They said I'd take right to it
Like a kitten to a string--
The club was made to do the work,
All I had to do was swing!

When I see the other fellers,
And watches how they do it,
It seems to be so simple
There just ain't nothin' to it;
So I gits me out a golf ball,
And I sets it on a tee:
All the time a'thinkin'
How durn easy it's gonna be.

Well, I draws back my shillalah,
And I takes a mighty swing
Jist like the fellers showed me,
But I didn't hit a thing!
Said I,
Now what the dickens,
This won't do, by gee;
No little hunk o' rubber
'S gonna make a fool of me!"
So I grit my teeth and swung agin,
But I missed it jist as bad.
I sprained a lot of ligaments
I never dreamed I had!

Driver, spoon and brassie,
And the irons, I tried 'em all;
I moved a lot of real estate,
But I never touched that ball!
Mid them laffin' wild hyenas,
Right there and then I swore
With a little fancy language,
That my golfing days were o'er.
Next feller tries to take me out
And show me how it's done,
I'm gonna grab my twelve-gauge,
And make a hole in one!

--Down Country Roads (1970)

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