Lyrics

Verse 1 – Lo-fi guitar riff, very disinterested tone]
Bart woke up in a sand trap dream,
Cheese puff dust in his cargo seams.
He’s got one club and a half-charged vape,
Claims he's “training for the Masters… of Escape.”
He swings like a man possessed by frogs,
Yells “FORE!” at clouds, ducks, and jogs.
Every tee shot’s an interpretive dance,
Followed by beer... and ants in his pants.
[Pre-Chorus – With harmonized backing vocal that sounds like it's mocking him]
He’s not bad…
He’s avant-garde.
He plays golf like
He’s breaking up with a yard.
[Chorus – Big distortion, sarcastic cheerleader energy]
FORE! It’s Bart, your hazard king!
Swingin’ like a dad on a bungee string.
Lost his ball and his mind in a koi fish pond,
High-fived a squirrel and called it a bond.
Golf ain't a game, it's performance bizarre…
And Bart is the bassist in a band called Par. 🎸
[Verse 2 – Spoken half-sung, like a bored beat poet on caffeine]
He puts with a wrench and he drives with a stick,
Claims gravity's fake and “the course is a trick.”
He argued with a goose for two holes straight,
Said “You honk like my ex, Debra — full of hate.”
He once used the flag as a cape of war,
Shouted “I AM GOLFBANE!” and belly-flopped on the floor.
Got banned from the pro shop for licking tees,
Now he sells NFTs of golf injuries.
[Chorus – Louder, slightly unhinged]
FORE! Sound the klaxon, release the bees!
Bart’s got a backswing that violates treaties.
He keeps score in emojis and smells like regret,
His cleats are just Crocs and his golf ball’s wet.
He's chaos in plaid, a putt gone too far…
He’s what happens when Mountain Dew meets par.
[Bridge – Echoey and weird, like a forgotten B-side]
Whispered secrets in the caddy shack…
“Bart’s out there again…”
“…he brought a kazoo.”
“…and a raw turkey?”
“He says it’s emotional support.”
guitar feedback intensifies
[Final Chorus – with kazoo solo layered under heavy guitar]
FORE! May the ducks forgive our sins!
Bart’s in the cart doin’ donuts again.
He triple-bogeyed a lawn chair, twice,
Told the golf pro he “don’t believe in advice.”
He’s a hazard, a legend, a polyester scar…
And he signs all his scorecards…
“Love, Bart — Golf Tsar.”