Dear golf ball,

Why can't you just freakin' go in the hole,
And not try to dodge, to juke, or to roll?
When I hit you right at the green,
Why must you avoid it?
Why are you so mean?
I'll hit you away,
With perfect form,
And off you'll go,
Into the storm,
Landing in the swamp
You mess up my game,
You make me look lame,
You set my head
Aflame
You ruin my chance,
Of fortune and fame!
It's always the same,
You are the bringer of shame,
That's you!