Ninety Ain’t Safe

[Intro]
Yeah
Saturday sins
Greens fees and dreams, baby
Uh
[Verse 1]
Pull up to the clubhouse, trunk go *thunk*
Bag full of hopes, swing full of junk
Koozie on the can, talk rich like pros
Scorecard read 50 and we only played 9 holes (damn)
First tee box, y’all act like legends
Warm-up swing, cold top, ball went seven
I’m laughin’, half lit, still lean on the cart
You aiming at the fairway, end up painting the park
You got the new sticks, fitted cap, fresh cleats
Still chipping from the ladies’ tees, week after week
You call “birdie watch,” then you blade your wedge
Ball skippin’ ‘cross sand like it’s runnin’ from the feds (hey)
[Chorus]
We gon’ slice that drive (slice that drive)
Chunk that iron (chunk that iron)
Three-putt greens, talk kings like lions (like lions)
Bet that cash, still trash from the tee
Can’t break 90 but we talk like Gs
We gon’ pull that pin (pull that pin)
Miss that cup (miss that cup)
Sip that beer, still swear we clutch
Whole squad loud from the rough to the green
Bad golf, big mouths, that’s the team
[Verse 2]
Side bets flyin’, ten bucks, two beers
“You ain’t hittin’ that green,” echo in your ears
You swing for the moon, catch dirt, no ball
Club dig deep, big divot, that’s all (ooh)
I’m on the fringe like, “Watch this roll”
Then I ram it past the hole straight off the slope
Lip-out, spit out, double on deck
But I’m talkin’ like a champ with a triple on the card, what’s next?
You read break left, it broke right, clown
Three-footer felt like twelve feet down
Flagstick rattlin’, hands all sweaty
But your mouth still heavy while your game stay petty
We Venmo, settle tabs by the trunk
Loser buy rounds ‘cause we all played bunk
Rock-bottom scores, rock-top pride
If we ever hit par we gon’ call it a sign (for real)
[Chorus]
We gon’ slice that drive (slice that drive)
Chunk that iron (chunk that iron)
Three-putt greens, talk kings like lions (like lions)
Bet that cash, still trash from the tee
Can’t break 90 but we talk like Gs
We gon’ pull that pin (pull that pin)
Miss that cup (miss that cup)
Sip that beer, still swear we clutch
Whole squad loud from the rough to the green
Bad golf, big mouths, that’s the team
[Bridge]
On the cart path swervin’ (who drivin’?)
Scorecard numbers hurtin’
Trash talk perfect, swings all broken
Legends in the stories, lies we smokin’
Next week back, same bets, same crew
Same bad shots, same tall tales too
If we ever play good, what we gon’ say?
Til then, triple bogey but we brag all day (yeah)

rap, Boom-bap East Coast bounce, dusty chopped loop over thick bass and crisp snares, male vocals with a laid-back but cocky delivery. Verses tight and conversational, ad-libs popping in the gaps. Hook gets wider with stacked gang vocals and crowd chants, light vinyl crackle and subtle horn stabs on the turnarounds., hip hop, east coast hip hop