A Better Putter
I have an iron which is a nine
Which some say has become benign;
Balls have been slow as molasses
So I had to take a couple of classes.
From the whole course I got cut
Because I never learned how to put.
And you should see the terrible scar
When they beat me for not making par.
All my balls were up against the wall
Until I saw a great, gorgeous gal;
Should we play around for a while;
She sure had guessed my golfing style.
To avoid all of the trash and clutter
I then tried to buy a better putter
But on course dead body does remain;
All my drives had driven them insane.