Here we are:
Tony’s in the Towers Gardens, not much to do
But golf and get some thundery sun
Hops on a cart, still almost dark
Get out and have some fun
Lines up his shot, he’s feeling Psybbo hot
He tries hard not to push
But half the time, like he was piranha blind
It ends up in the broomy bush
He curses and swears like no MoFCers there
Digs up a chunk of Scottish dirt
OMG, he’s hit the Towers house, feels like a louse
Thank God even Igor wasn’t hurt
He hacks around, rips up the ground
The hole seems ’way too small' (always a problem)
He misses his shot and swears a lot
This is no fun at all
Every shot’s worse than the last
No matter how he tries
They don’t go where he wants them
But the rough - It makes him wanna cry
Daisy and Queenie laugh themselves wet, Tony stands and chaffs
He ask them what’s so funny
They grin and say, “Looks like today
You owe us lots of money”
Finally when our Tone make a shot
He thinks he’s getting hotter
He rips the next shot long and hard
Straight into the Moat and the water
Every shot makes someone smile
Somehow it’s never him, could be you
A nungate and minty foursome comes up behind
Asks if they could play through
He shanks and pull, he slashes and slice
He finally gets around
The only part that he enjoys
Is when he’s tailcock bound
Our Tone practices ‘til the sun goes down
Determined not to fail
The more he ties, the worse it gets
He just grooves his slash and wail
Today, Tone had a real good day
He’s happy as could be
Had lots of fun, he and his Daisy Hon
They stayed Towers-inside and watched the Open on TV