
[Intro] Yeah, Ashley on the motorway But put him on a tee and he loses all horsepower [Verse 1] Ashley owns a lorry firm, king of the haulage lane Moves a hundred tonnes a day, thinks he’s built for fame Can reverse a trailer clean through a gap the size of a shoe But hand him one golf club and he forgets what hands can do Big rig rolls steady, every route is mapped and planned Then he sees that little white ball and panic takes command Knees start knocking, shoulders locked, face turning pale One tee shot later and the ball’s still on the same trail [Chorus] Ashley, Ashley, what’s that swing? Runs a whole fleet but can’t launch a thing Shaky knees, sad speech, acting like he’s cursed Complains so much the golf ball gets there first Ashley, Ashley, step up to the tee You talk like a champion, swing like a refugee One little driver and the confidence dies Then he blames the grass, the wind, the clouds, the flies [Verse 2] He studies every angle like he’s planning a motorway Takes twelve practice swings, still finds a brand-new way To send it twenty yards at a brutal forty-five Then shouts, “That wasn’t me,” like the club came alive He says, “My grip was wrong, the stance was feeling strange The tee was slightly tilted and the planets were deranged” Mate, the only thing obstructing that majestic golfing scene Is the massive load of nonsense rattling round your spleen [Chorus] Ashley, Ashley, what’s that swing? Runs a whole fleet but can’t launch a thing Shaky knees, sad speech, acting like he’s cursed Complains so much the golf ball gets there first Ashley, Ashley, step up to the tee You talk like a champion, swing like a refugee One little driver and the confidence dies Then he blames the grass, the wind, the clouds, the flies [Bridge] Lorry boss, golf loss, wobbling at the knees Big man behind the wheel, brought low by a breeze He can shift a full warehouse, keep the paperwork straight But a tiny ball on a peg turns him into dead weight [Final Chorus] Ashley, Ashley, park that truck Your tee shot needs a miracle and a little bit of luck Shaky knees, loud complaints, same old tired routine The only thing you’re driving today is everyone obscene Ashley, Ashley, hear the crowd reply: Stop blaming every object that is smaller than your pride Take the swing, miss the ball, give us all your best excuse Haulage king on weekdays, golf-course absolute juice [Outro] Next round, Ashley says he’s finally found his form Then he tops one six feet and blames a passing storm
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