Three Dead Skunks

 

Maybe it's the goo on my shoe from the backroom hairdoos.
Could be some old food voodoo, maybe their bread is turning blue.
Couldn't really tell what made the smell, but it smelled like hell.
Air was stale like sour milk pails, like a stinky, moldy jail.

(Chorus)

Paid my green fee.
Didn't look like many trees.
Just a slight southern breeze.
But the stink almost knocked me down.

Jumped in a cart about to start, loosening up all my body parts.
Broke my heart, they had no scorecards, keeping score in my head is hard.
Hit nothing but junk, score was sunk, water balls went kaplunk kaplunk.
Was in a funk, was playing like a punk, then I drove by 3 dead skunks.

(Chorus)

Rest of the round no putts went down, almost par'd 7 but the ball lipped out.
This small town, hard pan ground, 9 hole course we somehow found.
It was going to pot, place smelled like rot, took a snowman on 8, then took a shot.
By 9 we were fine, we'll remember the time, Blanket Muni Golf Course, the scene of the crime.

(Chorus)


GCDG

DCx3
G

*co-written by Corey Baker