Jack, Bernard and John, the Bandit Kings,
Hae handicaps wae too high.
Each o' them score four points a hole,
Ah canna tell ye a lie!
Me, ah'm Rabbie, the bard o' the course;
Ah'm lucky tae score yin point.
Ah feenish the game an' come in fur a jar,
ma boadies awa' oot o' joint.
Jack, Bernard and John, coont up the scores,
Tae see which yin o' them's won.
Me ah look doon at ma pitifu' caird.
"Nae guid wi' a hunner an' one."
Bernard says, "Jack what have you scored?"
In his posh Yorkshire dialect tone;
Jack's lingo is great at a rugby club bash
But no' sae guid oan the phone.
The Caverley Poond is played doon the last,
The lowest net score scoops the lot:
They've aw hit great drives right doon the middle;
Noo they wait for a shoat frae the Scot!
Ah dinna let them doon, ah've duffed ma ba',
It's flown fifty yairds, nae mair;
Ah tak' oot ma five wid an' gie it a heave
An' they aw begin tae stare!
The ba' flies superbly, as tho' it had wings
An' sails richt intae the hole!
Ah'm happy ah've taken these bandits doon,
At last ah've achieved ma first goal!
The moral o' this tale is keep yer sporran zipped up
Dinna let them see a wee groat:
They'll hatch oot a plan tae help themselves
Tae aw the shillin's ye've goat!
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