GOLF

It's a game called golf, many learn to play,
Always starts as fun, before it wrecks your day.
Ninety eight percent addictive, on the first try,
If you ever do it, kiss your life goodbye.

A progressive affliction, ravages the brain,
Played through the cold, even in the rain.
Though lightning flashes, up in the sky,
Some never quit, they would rather die.

Chasing a tiny white orb, this way and that,
They hit it with a stick, then wonder where it's at.
Obscenities fly, til they find this little ball,
Just to hit again, like it matters not at all.

Many go into pits, with a stick in their hand,
And begin to throw out a bunch of white sand.
Some fling their sticks high in the air.
Cover your ears, oh how they swear.

Driving little white cars, as on an urgent mission,
On routes likely planned, by a local politician.
Ball dropping in a hole, they add up their score,
Using crazy Golf math, where five adds up to four.

For the sake of mankind, this game has to cease,
If we ever expect, to find world peace.
Call the government demand a new plan,
Work should be done, for golf they must ban.