There are two types of people:
Those who play golf,
And those who recognize it
for the idiotic malpractice that it is,
Behold, my child, this touching scene,
The golfer on the golfing-green;
Pray mark his legs’ uncanny swing,
The golf-walk is a gruesome thing!
There are laddies will drive ye a ba'
To the burn frae the farthermost tee,
But ye mauna think driving is a',
Ye may heel her, and send her ajee,
I drove a golf-ball into the air;
Have you seen the golfers airy
Prancing forth to their vagary,
Just as frisky in their gaiters
As a flock of Grecian Satyrs,
I remember the night I discovered,
lying in bed in the dark,
that a few imagined holes of golf
Would you like to see a city given over,
Soul and body, to a tyrannising game?
If you would, there's little need to be a rover,
For St. Andrews is the abject city's name.
A perfect golf course lawn,
A house painted by numbers,
A dog plays out back, and all
the children say, whats for