Lyrics Calbatross - Prozack Turner

What started as hobby now it turned it to an obsession
Possible addiction here′s my confession
Here's my predicament if that′s what you want to call it
My name is Zack I think I've turned into a golfaholic
18 holes with my peoples I'm suited up in street clothes
Hand me a nine in I′ll defeat foes
I′m on the course I'm getting stares like a banister
On the green smoking blue dream and drinking Talisker
The clubhouse manager he′s pissed like a catheter
Rich folks thinking to themselves who are these characters
Hip-hop junky nice and smooth when I swing my club
Remove my glove on the green now it's time to putt
I don′t Bogie like Bacall when I hit the ball
Smooth as a pendulum and I don't bend my wrist at all
Clear my mind and focus and mentally it so involved
I hit the ball into the leather cup it fucking falls yes!

Sometimes I daydream and fantasize I′m going pro
Caddy and a driver I'm not talking about a chauffeur though
I'm on the open road I′m teeing up I′m launching it
Win that green jacket any million dollar sponsorship
Rich financially undoubtedly the man to beat
I'm the best that ever did at Saint Andrews got a statue of me
It′s made of bronze it says "bad motherfucka"
I'm taking out these pastors Pebble Beach to Augusta
Competitions rolling in the sand more than a camel
I′m on the golf channel giving tips an example
Going down in the annals trophies on the mantle
I'll drive over the ocean but I′ll clear it like a sample
But there's nothing more humbling then when your round is crumbling
Your frustrated making your blood boil and bubblin'
Sufferin′ throwing your club yellin′ and cussin' n′
Knock another one in the woods with no recovering
Some players have to lie to their wives because they don't understand
This summer spend a couple grand with my club in hand
I′m still lousy at this game but my arms are tan
Fresh air and open space I get to walk the land
Reputation legendary golf until I'm dead and buried
Won′t stop 'til I'm getting birdies like an estuary
I′m Dirty Harry Eastwood with my 3 wood
You feeling lucky cause I feel like I could be Woods
Donald or McIlroy Sing Choi or Mickelson
Leaderboard positionin′ Fed Ex Cup glistenin'
I hit a thousand balls a day for training and conditioning
10 yards I chip it in so good it′s sickening
The fairway is Sizzlin' I′m rocking my plaid pants
This game is harder than my deck after a lap dance
Who am I kidding thinking that I'll ever stack grands
I′m going home to throw these clubs in the trashcan