TEE, TEE, ONLY TEE!

AIR—"Thee, thee, only thee."

The dawn of morn, the daylight's sinking,

Shall find me on the Links, and thinking

Of Tee, Tee, only Tee!

When rivals meet upon the ground,

The Putting-green's a realm enchanted,

Nay, in Society's giddy round

My soul, (like Tooting's thralls) is haunted

By Tee, Tee, only Tee!'

For that at early morn I waken,

And swiftly bolt my eggs and bacon,

For Tee, Tee, only Tee!

I'm game to start all in the dark

To the Links hurrying—resting never.

The Caddie yawns, but, like a lark,

I halt not, heed not, hastening ever

To Tee, Tee, only Tee!

Of chilly fog I am no funker,

I'll brave the very biggest bunker

For Tee, Tee, only Tee!

A spell that nought on earth can break

Holds me. Golf's charms can ne'er be spoken;

But late I'll sleep, and early wake,

Of loyalty be this my token,

To Tee, Tee, only Tee!