Old Hal and I went out one day,
A round of golf we thought we’d play.
They tell us golf’s a summer game,
But we play winters just the same.
Clubs were selected, balls washed white,
Tees in hand, things just right.
We both did very well, I think,
Until we came to cross the drink.
Since I was leading, I shot first
And hit the ball a mighty burst.
I hit it straight and hit it hard;
It must have gone three hundred yards!
Hal said, “I guess that’s pretty good,
But I don’t think I’ll use a wood.”
He said, “My boy, I am inclined
To try my luck with number nine.”
“On second thought,” I heard him mutter,
“I’ll cross that water with my putter!”
He took the club and I stood by;
He teed the ball up nice and high.
His feet were planted, eyes were set;
“I’ll get across that creek, I’ll bet.”
“A hole in one!” I heard him say,
And heard the ball splash in the bay.
He set his teeth, his face turned red;
He stomped the ground and shook his head;
And in the anger of the spree
He wrapped his putter ’round a tree.
Five-hundred-ninety yards and three,
He used a putter from the tee.
And this I vow, for I have seen
Him use a driver on the green!