You wander afar, and you never make par
but you don't see the why, or the where for.
You walk to the tee and you're cold as can be,
'cause to practice is not what you care for.

I've heard it all a million time before.
Take out your driver, love, and try some more.

Don't slice on the fairway, darling.
Don't land in that field again.
Don't slice on the fairway, darling.
The pro is lonely. Forget your foolish pride.
Something's wrong. So get some lessons, again.

You try to be smart, then your game falls apart,
'cause it hurts when your palms are abraded.
You're shaking your fist, but it's all in your wrists,
and the problems are not complicated.

Good clubs mean nothing when they're all for show.
You've got to hit the ball and make it go.

Don't slice on the fairway, darling.
Don't land in that field again.
Don't slice on the fairway, darling.
The pro is lonely. Forget your foolish pride.
Something's wrong. So get some lessons, again.