Norm Raymen's Retired

We'll propose a toast and lift a glass
to a guy who's sharp, has lots of class.
We met this fellow years ago
a friend in need and we told him so.
He had an affliction not so small
Swinging a club at a little white ball.
We tried to cure this gentle soul,
of hitting a ball in a four inch hole.
But he braced his feet, he didn't care,
He'd lost his pride and most of his hair.
We followed him around, insulted his swing
He'd never amount to anything.
He's swing at the ball then he'd curse
Swing again, this time worse.
He'd slice one time, next he'd hook
We couldn't even bear to look.
As time went by his affliction grew.
We didn't care, we had caught it, too.
We swing at the ball like we've gone insane
But we kinda enjoy sharing his pain.