Mow the greens, sir; mow the greens, sir, for this game you
play on fairways that seem to go on for miles.
For your slothfulness I feel I must defame you
if you don’t go mow the greens like carpet pile.

It’s soft pile I’ll see when you have mown the greens, sir.
Get off your duff—here come duffers in their carts.
They’ll be steamed if they see that there’s poor prep.
Then they’ll cry there, get in my hair.
You’ve been warned—show some zeal: mow the greens, sir.
Or off you’ll go, you know, on a new job-search start.

You need style when you go out to mow the greens, sir.
If the job’s out of your league, you must depart.
Such an action will not enhance your rep.
We’ll say, “Bye, there!” in the dry air.
So up warm blades of steel—mow the greens, sir,
or steam will blow from golfers who play à la cart.

Mow the greens, sir, or you’ll leave, sir!