Lethal - The Abs

The light cascading from the dewy verges

Signals to the guy upon the tee it’s shit or bust

A brand spanking Dunlop screams into the hedgerow

And a luckless flock of starlings bite the dust

The beautifilly maintained expanse of emerald fairway

That glides into the distance has him vexed

He draws an ancient five in a vice-like grip

And ploughs the bugger up from one end to the next

Facing extradition

To the forestry comission

J.C.B. precision

Graces every shot

Passing gulls he’s winging

Manically he’s swinging

Like an Amphetamine-crazed Terry Scott

A sound, not unlike a squid in a Zanussi

Emits from where the bloke has gained in two

A lethal glint of eight-iron, volley of expletives

The flight of the divot’s long and true

Chequ’d flares flapping in the wind

Animated, as he chinned the bloke enquiring

If he took any drugs

The retaliation of a putter in the spuds

Made him splutter

cracking lips like petrified slugs

Now he seldom ever makes a fuss

With a customized Trevino truss

He’s grasped the fundamentals

And his handicap is slowly coming down