Lie, De, Die
An Irish–style drinking song recorded live at the 19th Hole Pub & Grub with the help of the 3-Putz along with an assortment of local duffers. Make sure to sing along.

Oh, Lie, de, die, de die, de die, de die, de, die, de die de die…

Paddy was a laddie, he had a farmers tan
It would get his Irish up when he hit it in the sand
They say he came from Ireland, but I don’t think he did
His mother’s name was Sophie
And his father’s name was Sid

Poor ol’ Danny Potter, couldn’t catch a break
He got word they laid him off, how much could he take
He left his wife or she left him, can’t get the story straight
For now it doesn’t matter, he just shot a 68!

O’Brien was from Boston, he wore a bright green vest
He used to pin a shinny golden shamrock to his chest
He said it made him lucky, when he hit the links
He can really use the help, his short game really stinks

Betty was from Brooklyn, before she headed south
She was a decent golfer, but she had a dirty mouth
A 3-putt on a par 4 hole, the foursome was a hush
Then she let out some words would make a 
Weathered sailor blush

Jimmy was a duffer, he packed a mighty swing
His specialty was teeing off, they called ol’ Jim the king
He couldn’t putt to save his life and couldn’t pitch a wedge
But when they played a captain’s choice
He gave his team an edge.

Freddie was a lawyer, with a litigatin’ mind
He would always threaten suit, when he got in a bind
One day he was puttin’ for the kitty and he missed
He sued the Club and won 
and now the members all are pissed

When Johnny has a couple of beers, he begins to sing
Some say he sounds like Springsteen, others say ‘the King’
I’ve never seen ol’ Elvis putt, I’ve never seen him swing
But I’m seen Johnny hole it out, with his trusty Ping

The moral of the story is the stories that area told
We enjoy the search for that elusive pot of gold
There are many colors in the rainbows of this game
If breakin’ par’s your goal, relax you’ll drive yourself insane

Home Away From Home
Millions of duffers have enjoyed playing one of the many courses on the Grand Strand of South Carolina. Some don’t want to leave. This “Chicago Style” song beckons you home to the strand.

From where I stand, everything looks grand, yeah
I’m on the Strand, 3-wood in my hand, yeah
Don’t make me go back home I love the beach and sand
This is my home away from home

The sun is hot; I can’t make a shot, no
But I don’t care, springtime’s in the air, yeah
I’d be shoveling snow if I was back in Ohio
This is my home away from home

If I would stay, wonder what the folks back home would say
“He’s lost him mind”, but I have found my peace….of mind

The salty air, no time to spare yeah
Tee time’s at eight, I can’t be late, no
My buddies and me are just as happy as can be
This is my home away from home

Mr. Dimples
I can just hear Leon Redbone doing this one. Much like a movie star, each club seems to have one guy that stirs the sexual passions in all the female members. We call him Mr. Dimples. Are you that guy?

Mr. Dimples, she’s got her eye on you
It may be the fact that you swing
Mr. Dimples, well I’m afraid that it’s true
She would really like to get a hold of your ping
You’ve got the look with your red & black plaid
Don’t disappoint her, don’t you make her mad
Mr. Dimples…she’s got her eye on you…

Mr. Dimples, well it’s clear to see,
You’ve got what she’s looking for
Mr. Dimples, it may be jealousy
You’ve got what it takes and a little bit more
You’ve got your way, and she likes your style
You sink all your putts and you can drive it a mile
Mr. Dimples…she’s got her eye on you.

Take her for a ride in your gas-powered cart
You know how she likes it and the way to her heart
She’s ready to go like a horse at the gate
Acting like a school girl on her very first date
And if you take her out for a night on the town
Wine her and you dine her in her glittery gown
Just imagine how many points you would score
She’ll come back to you just beggin for more
Mr. Dimples… she’s got her eye on you.

You can be sure that she thinks you’re her man
If you can’t do it then nobody can 
Mr. Dimples…she’s got her eye on you…

Put It In The Hole 
An Urban/Caucasian classic rap rendition depicting the fascination with the fact that no matter how bad a day of golf can be, the alternative is much worse.

Well I’m headin’ down the fairway, lookin’ for my ball
I know I hit it this way, then it took a little roll
Jumpin’ in the bush now, I hit it in the rough
Gotta play like Tiger, the lie’s a little tough

I need a little wedgie, I need a little lift
Pitchin’ to the green now, it’s just a little chip
If I could only get to the vicinity of the hole
It would make my birdie, that would be my goal

Put it in the Hole (In the hole, in the hole)
I tried to put it in the hole but it took and extra roll

Searchin’ for that sweet spot, trying to get an edge
I’ll change my club selection, I hit a Texas wedge
Tryin’ to hit a fat shot, tryin to be the ball
It’s like I beat my head against a solid metal wall

I need a fresh libation, man I need another drink
My tee shots are all fadin’, I couldn’t hit a flier
Who ever said this game is fun, must a been a liar

Lookin’ like a fried egg or a chili dip
Playin’ on a goat farm, feeling like a yip
Dimples on the Titlest, wrinkles on my face
The divots in the fairway, take me from this place

My homey’s know my number, but they don’t even call
My wife is glad to see me; we go shopping at the mall
Forget about the golf cart, I just ride a mower
Sweepin’ off the driveway, man I need a blower

Now I don’t even care if I ride that bogey train
If I’m chillin’ in the heat, or shankin’ in the rain
It I hit a brick or a five off of the tee
It’s better than just sittin’ watchin’ reality TV

Nature Calls
Let’s be honest…not all courses can provide the ‘facilities’ to cover our moments of need, especially after all that beer. Hey… we do the best we can.

He hooked it to the right, it landed out of sight
I saw him walking over in the light brush
Then I heard a zip, he had a solid grip
The ladies in the fairway had a slight blush
I think he lost his ball, either that or nature called
The woods are full of many kinds of dangers
Regardless of his fate, I know I can relate
If they find me I hope that they are strangers

So if nature calls, when you loose your balls
You’d better take a real good look around
Someone might see, accidentally
Then you may be the new talk of the town

She headed to the trees, marching through the leaves
Didn’t see her swing, just saw her squatting
Now I’m not one to stare, but what I saw out there
Was unexpected, even disappointing
I think she lost her ball, could-a been a nature call
She must-a thought that nobody was spying
When she looked at me, I pretended not to see
I looked down to see how my ball was lying

So should nature call, when you loose your balls
You’d better take a real good look around
Someone might see, accidentally
Then you may be the new talk of the town
Don’t let yourself be the new talk of the town

Eighteen Holes
Feel Good, Bluegrass Romp portraying the importance of playing golf in moderation.

18 holes, 18 holes, all I’m playin is 18 holes
Grab my clubs, my cart, my balls,
All I’m playin is 18 holes

Half past 8, I’ll be late, Won’t take long, work can wait
He won’t worry cause my boss knows
All I’m playin is 18 holes

If it’s hot, I won’t wilt, Thank the Lord I’m southern built
If it rains or if it snows
I’ll be playin those 18 holes

Take my time, please don’t whine
Please don’t whine if I take my time
I’ll be done fore’ nighttime falls
All I’m playin is 18 holes

Love my wife, love my life, 
Don’t care much for pain and strife
I’ll be home before she calls
Cause all I’m playin is 18 holes.

Got a friend, his name is ED
They found him, left for dead
His wife shot him full of holes….
He played more than 18th holes…..

3-Putt Man
What can I say? Sometimes I’m glad it’s just 3. Sometimes it helps to sing about it.

Well it’s true what they say about me
My puttin’s the worst in the land
I know that I stink, Must be my technique
They call me the 3-putt man
When I shoot for the dough, it comes up short and off line
When it slopes and it’s long then it’s hard to align
When the greens are too fast, it ends up in the sand
You know I’m the 3-putt man

Who would have thought it would break left
Hey I read the greens the best that I can
It was a perfect putt, it just didn’t go in
Just call me the 3-putt man
I’ve got all the excuses and a couple to spare
When you’re lookin’ at me, the pressure’s too much to bear
The ball’s out of round, the greens aren’t true
Never up, never in, well that’s nothin’ new

I wish that I could get in the leather, 
I wish that I could get in the can

But don’t cry for me, I’m just destined to be
The designated 3-putt man, just call me the 3-putt man
They call me the 3-putt man.

Strokin’ In The Sand
Beach, Boogie and Blues. Here’s a little Carolina Beach Music to get your feet moving and help remind you that there’s more to life than golf…there’s dancing! For those of you who do not know, the ‘Shag’ is the state dance for South Carolina.

I’m Strokin’, Strokin’ in the Sand
I’m Shaggin’, Shaggin’ to the band
You know I love my baby, and my baby loves her man

I left her in the morning, just before the dawn
The boys and me were jokin’, glad to get away from home
Then we started playin’, and kickin’ back some foam

The sun was up and rising and the temperature got hot
I was thinkin’ bout my baby, started missin’ her a lot
The more I thought about her, the more I’d miss my shot.

I hooked it to the left, shanked it to the right
Lined it up and drilled it and hit it out of sight
Yea I’m Strokin’, Strokin’ in the sand
You know I love my baby, and my baby loves her man

And when I see that fairway, stretching to the green
I really get excited, and you know what I mean
I’m feeling like a king, just pining for my queen

Oh Billy Boy
To the tune of Danny Boy. You know someone like this, don’t ya? 

Oh Billy Boy, your wife, your wife is calling
She’s on the phone and wants you home right now
The yard needs work; the hedges need a-trimming
You have to cut the grass and weed the flower beds

So go ye back before the sun is setting
Or she will never wash your clothes again
And no hot meals for breakfast, lunch or dinner
Oh Billy Boy you best not tell her where you’ve been

And when at last the final score is tallied
Then you will know if it was worth the pain
Did you break par or did you just break even
Oh Billy Boy I hope it wasn’t all in vain

So come ye back, if your wife will let you
Suck up to her and she might let you go
Buy her a ring, some candy and some flowers
Oh Billy Boy lets hope she don’t take your dough
Oh Billy Boy the three of us will miss you so..

Birdie
Some believe in love. Some believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows. Some believe they can be a scratch golfer. I believe in dreams, don’t you?

Mine eyes have seen the glory, of a par on number one
The other guys got birdies, man we’re really having fun
Now the 2nd tee box calls us and the battle has begun
Our four-some marches on

The sun is shinning brightly, and the divots have been few
Now we’re headed to the green, I think I’m laying 2
To the slowpokes up ahead of us, “look out we’re playin’ through”
Our four-some marches on

Put a birdie on the scorecard, put a birdie on the scorecard
Put a birdie on the scorecard, out four-some marches on

We’ve been making every shot that we have tried today
It really is a miracle, the way that we can play
We must’ve gotten power from that big breakfast buffet
Our four-some marches on

We’re truckin’ down the fairway with a heavy head of steam
Somebody hooked it in the rough, but chipped it on the green
I’m afraid someone will tell me this was all just a dream
Our four-some marches on

Thank God for the 19th Hole
This is the song that got it all started. Written and recorded back in 1988, this acoustic version seems to say it all. They say misery loves company. Nowhere is that more evident than after a tough day on the links. Sharing an occasional adult beverage with others seems to soothe the pain though. 

Well I rode up to first tee, three-wood in my hand
Looked out over the fairway,
Took a breath of the springtime air
Set my ball up on the tee, took a practice swing for luck
Then I drew back and hit a shot, killed and innocent duck

Chorus
Today just ain’t my day, my swing ain't really swingin’
My concentration’s all been lost
With those darn birds a-singing
My putters bent and I’m filled with sweat
And the heat is taking toll
But I’m headed for salvation
Thank God for the 19th Hole

Ol’ number 5’s a water hole; I tried to drive it long
But it’s hung up in the mud and weeds,
I must-a hit it wrong
Well ‘hazard’ is my middle name
But my friend’s all call me ‘Slice’
If golfing ain’t a pleasure, it sure a heck’s a vice

I’m looking at a dog-leg left and I just hit it right
My seven iron shot’s wide
And my puttin’s been a sight
The front nine’s all behind me now,
I’ve got another nine to go
But all my ice is melting and the beer’s about to blow

I triple boogied 17, and my golf cart’s going dead
It’s 601 to the 18th green and my hat just blew off my head
I thought I made it to the pin, 
But something here is strange
Well I must-a gotten lost somewhere
Cause I’m in the driving range

I’ve been here at the 19th hole for at least an hour or two
Telling all my friends about the hell that I’ve been through
It’s been a rough day all around
Most the stories are the same
I guess it just all boils down to, golf, is just a game

Don’t Cry For Me (a golfer’s farewell)
When it’s time to go to that big ‘Fairway in the sky’, remember I’ll be in a better place…I’ll just miss you.

Don’t cry for me, don’t shed a tear
Remember all our times together, hold them near
It is my fate, that God called me
To join that perfect foursome in eternity

I smell the sweetness of the grass
I’ll feel the warming sun the water smooth as glass
The morning dew, the cleansing rain
I’ll be where there’s no sorrow and where there’s no pain

For heaven calls me home to stay
I’ll wait for all of you to meet me there someday
But when you walk, up to the tee
Just keep me somewhere in your happy memory