Oh Lord I’ve got those tee box blues,

I tell ya my friends; it’s why I always lose.

I got it bad, I got them old blues,

I just can’t shake these tee box blues.


Once again I’m a standin’ on this here 18th tee,

Lookin’ out on the beautiful green before me,

Callaway’s Big ‘ol Bertha in my hand, teasingly,

My turn to hit the final drive of the day mercifully.


Stooping to tee a Callaway ball afore my address,

Standing quickly, as I find myself near breathless,

My lungs are screaming, but, not I’m not dying, I guess,

My feet are now scrambling to position, what a mess.


I take a practice swing, it’s grooved it seems,

It feels good and looks smooth, everyone agrees.

Contemplating my swing once more, yeah, it feels free,

Swing starts to engage; but once again, it happens to me…


My brain starts barking, the time I most dread,

Don’t hit out of bounds, don’t smack a tree it said,

Keep elbow in, and your left arm straight instead,

Stop at top, and for God’ sake, don’t move that big head.


Scramblin’ all day, but damnit not happenin’ anymore,

I bring the club down hard, sure I’ll get a better score,

Good contact and great news, nobody yelled fore!

Finally, thankfully, this may be a shot I can adore?


Eagerly looking towards the green, surely a great shot,

Alas, no ball in the fairway, Jeez my head is getting hot.

It even feels like my blood is even starting to clot,

I hear from behind, “well that was your the best hit, NOT!”


My buddy’s scowl, they’ve witnessed my LOFT all day,

We’re lovin’ your Lack of Friggin’ Talent they say,

Twenty yards left, in deep grass, a fence in the way,

I finally see my Callaway and my face goes ashen gray.


As I’ve cried, I’ve still got those darn ol’ tee box blues,

I tell ya my friends; it costs me money when I always lose.

A good tee box shot from me is eternally in great doubt,

So excuse me while I go sit in my car and pout.