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Oh Eric VanderHouwen, he’s a walking trainwreck,

That swing looks like a seizure mixed with a car crash at a tech deck.

He lines up his driver, then f**kin’ flails at the ball,

It dribbles off the tee like it don’t give a sh*t at all.

🎶 He’s shootin’ in the hundreds, and proud as hell,

Drinks red wine like water, and goddamn you can tell.

He don’t break 90, he breaks his goddamn back,

Then blames the whole thing on a slipped spinal stack. 🎶

Out at Royal Oaks, where the serious golfers play,

Here comes Eric — slice, shank, hack, and pray.

He’s got cabernet in his Hydro Flask,

And a chiropractor on speed dial for every task.

🎶 He’s shootin’ in the hundreds, lost ten balls on the front,

His backswing’s a fking horror — it’s a full-on stunt.

He don’t birdie, he boozes, forgets where he’s at,

Takes a mulligan, shrugs, and says, “Fk it, I meant that.” 🎶

He hits the ball once, then drinks three times,

Quotes Caddyshack, but f**ks up the lines.

You’ll hear “Fore!” then “Sht!”* then a “Goddamn tree!”

While his ball bounces off some poor guy’s knee.

He putts like he’s bowling, chips like he’s blind,

He’s got one good stroke — and it’s pouring more wine.

Call the chiropractor, cancel the round,

Eric’s out here turning Royal Oaks into a clown compound.

🎶 He’s shootin’ in the hundreds, but he don’t give a f**k,

His swing’s so ugly, it scares off the ducks.

He’s the wino king of the weekend hack,

With a Merlot mustache and a scoliosis back. 🎶