Putting Poems 11-20 of 31
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God bless my trusty new putter
It makes the flat bellies mutter
Pure pendulum swings
Sweet victory brings
No way they can beat this old mother!
Golf is game of some skill and some luck
But to score you must have something more
Tim had an idea, the Torpedo was born
The crew members how they waited,
Until they were torn
The day finally came
Something so different, something so new
Available to all, not just a few
Oh how the ball rolled, so straight and so true
Torpedo its name, Fame its game!
I once met a man from Calcutta,
Whose troubles began with his putter.
To raise up his game,
He got the Torpedo, by name,
Now his words do not from the gutter.
There once was a guru named Tim
Who had a new putter, what a gem
If he would have loaned Norman a torpedo
It might have shrunk Padraig's libido
And Chris Everets Sunday might not have been so dim
At the famed British Open this year
The lads rolled their putts with great fear
They should have called Winey
And then, maybe finally
Their putts wouldn't make people jeer
Winey helped Padraig's control
It aided the putt and its roll
Heed Timothy’s plea
Stradivari for thee
And you too will find the hole!
Torpedo gave Padraig control
It aided the putt and its roll
Heed Timothy’s plea
An Amati for thee
And you too will find the hole!
There once was a clever man Tim
Who said putting can make us all cringe.
He strummed and he fretted,
Torpedo he invented,
And helped us hole out with a grin.
Golf has it highs and its lows,
Poor putting can add to our woes,
But with Torpedo we can dance,
Our game will advance,
And we’ll smile from our head to our toes.
The masters say putting is key,
We smile and readily agree,
But our stroke would often stink,
Until Torpedo helped us sink,
From wherever on the green we would be.
Putting Poems 11-20 of 31
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