They're slackers, and jackoffs, and wackjobs, and misfits,
Vomiting stewed hicks, and drunkards, and dimwits;
Bums who booze and brawl
When they play that dimpled white ball. . .

Rude golf ill-bred schmoes play here--
Jam their irons on your toe.
When trees block shots, they saw them.
Hooch just makes their mayhem grow.

And they get drunk all day here--
Stooges quaff and call folks names.
Many guests left; they rue golf,
So they take up other games.

Themselves groggy hicks relieve--
Sand traps become bays.
Rude golfers blow noses right
Into guys' cole slaw then fight.

When Saint Nick comes, they slug him,
Louts at the Christmas party.
Rude golfers are a plague here,
Play like Moe, Larry, Curly
(Also Fields, W.C.).