This sunday's game

Going to hit the ball
Hit the man with the pace maker thats on recall
In the sand or deep in the tree's
Hoping not to hit a bee hive full of bee's

Club selection is like a political election
One choice, once decision and one direction
Their is no rebound
It's over like the speed of sound

A re-do is neccessary
We are not pro's to the contrary
Clunks of flying dirt and grass
In the air, holes in the ground that we pass

These broken lights
The night time golf is gone, like our rights
That funky fake river
Creating terrible scores and missing golf balls, sends a shiver

Looking at the score card
Counting, why does it seem so hard?
Driving range, people behave like a stranger
For the streaky and wild golfers in ego danger

Sweating while walking
Thinking and talking
Just trying to look cool and get a tan
Only hoping our golf plan doesnt hit the fan

Trying to get that feeling
Of a big game to be reeling
Confidence is a booster
Like a sunrise awakening from a rooster