At the range , my hand is cut
Im still smoking squares
I watch the smoke drift off
I wrap my lips around for another hit
I know I should quit
I know I should
Keep playing golf
I like the swift sound the club makes off the tee
My hips facing out
My bare feet in the grass
My arms heavy
My irons new
My driver ****** me as if I was glued
To the glove, slicing my swing
Three years working only with my seven and the club that breaks
When I graduated college, I didn't walk
I only received a call my name was announced
Booming over my peers
I walked to the next tee
**** university all I care about is this par three
My cousin shook my hand
"You did it"
College was nothing, drunk walks, kisses and *****, long classes, tree, rolling rock, jamming, working, best friends, exams.
Golf on the other hand is none of that
And I cant get a break.