He needed clothes with some pizazz. (Some snap!) From his spiked shoes, all the way to his cap. Maybe some hot golf chick, will allow him to ‘rap’ This would not happen if he looked like a sap!
Time to say goodbye to the ‘Stone Age’ But buying the best, required a top wage. Which always seemed, to be locked in a cage The thought of which, filled him with rage!
His face stuck to the golf store window like glue The new stock, he felt compelled to view. They weren’t like his. (Rated ‘P.U”!)
His envy continued to churn, in a festering ‘stew’!
To not have that ‘gear’…how would he cope? For the foreseeable future, he’d continue to mope. Only some cash, would give him hope
But that appeared lost in darkness, to grope
He hated these states. (They took their toll) Next would come depression, on the ‘roll’. Probably ‘eating up the day whole’ Taking him lower, than the lowest mole.