The Back Nine

In this game you've got eighteen holes

To shoot your best somehow

Where have all my divots gone

I'm in the back nine now

I got to move on down to that next fairway

Up to that flapping flag

There's a storm formin' overhead

I got to shoulder up that bag

Shoulder up that bag

Shoulder up that bag

Got to move on down to that next fairway

Up to that flapping flag

I used to tote my daddy's bag

When I was a boy

I saw him sweat and I heard him swear

But sometimes he'd whoop for joy

Golf clubs are made of wood and iron

No, no, no, they are not magic wands

And balls fall into sand traps

And balls drop into ponds

Balls drop into ponds

Balls drop into ponds

Golf clubs are made of wood and iron

No they are not magic wands

I'm walkin' around with these spiked shoes on

Oh it feels a little obscene

Mother nature with a manicure

Up here on this green

Oh I don't know about you but I got to have me a few

When we get to that clubhouse bar

It's my reward for this scorecard

I'm way over par

I'm way over par

I'm way over par

I don't know about you

I got to drink me few

When we get to that clubhouse bar

In this game you got eighteen holes

To shoot your best somehow

Where have all my divots gone

I'm in the back nine now