I add clothes and shoes to fit my image,
daily lessons from the clubhouse pro;
I'm ready to charge from the shadows
and show Jack Nicklaus what I know.

My white spheres whistle through the air
straight down the picturesque fairway;
I have pinpoint accuracy on the practice range
I know, by God, that this will be my day.

On number one, the crowd peers eagerly
as I tee up the ball to give it a sting;
my backswing's a beauteous thing to behold,
on the downswing, I whiff the damn thing.