I well remember Mr. Naughton Whose life I daily yearned to shorten He who drove us to the edge Flailing with his pitching wedge - Or it might have been a flashy Royal & Ancient wooden mashie - Niblick, driver, I don't care As long as I was never where I could be slashed with shaft or hosel On buttocks, ribs or even schnozzle. I longed to see him in the gutter Impaled upon a Ping-type putter - In fact I'd even go so far As deem that outcome "even par."