Volume 103 — TEE, TEE, ONLY TEE!

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!