You find my complexion golden
My hair a lighter hue
My eyes have a twinkle
And crease where smiles wrinkle
It's due to my getting old of course,
Playing a round on the golf course
Of course
Playing a round between hurricanes
No marshals to contend with
Feeder bands of rain
Katrina is my caddy
Rita fills my divots
I tell you this is living pal
Swinging between hurricanes
My hook I play into the wind
Slices run with the breeze
Putting is never long, rolling through trees
Katrina holds my flag
Rita marks my line
I tell you this is living pal
Swinging between hurricanes
What a drive I smack down the fairway
With a pitch and wedge I carry 303
I never pull out my wood for driving
Because my wood is a metal thing
The follow-through's unsettling
Playing a round between hurricanes
I don't need a cart
I don't need a bag
Katrina holds my putter
Rita my pitching wedge
Tees are even provided
You can perch it on a head
How easy to play from the bunker
I do it with a sweep of my putter
'Cus where there once was sand
It's now cement
And it's a truer roll than when the green's Bermuda bent
Wow, yeah
Though you might lose your balls in the rough
Cus brother the roughs are really rough
And there's plenty in the bushes
Trees are uprooted
There's a lotta bellota where for years they been booted
When you're playing a round between hurricanes
Climbing is fantastic
Summer breeze is rain
Katrina holds my bumber
Shooting Rita picks my cleets
I tell this is living pal
On the only manicured lawn in town
When you're swinging
Between the hurricanes
Fore!