The Greatest Oldies Music

Country

Shitty Golfer – Toby Keith

Toby Keith's Family Brought to Tears During CMT Awards Tribute

About the Song

In the realm of country music, Toby Keith stands as a towering figure, a true American icon. Renowned for his gritty anthems and patriotic ballads, Keith has captivated audiences for decades with his honest storytelling and down-to-earth persona. Among his vast repertoire of hits, one song stands out as a humorous and relatable ode to the struggles of the average golfer: “Shitty Golfer.”

Released in 2017 as part of Keith’s album The Bus Songs, “Shitty Golfer” is a lighthearted romp through the frustrations and mishaps that plague even the most seasoned golf enthusiasts. With its catchy melody and Keith’s signature twang, the song has become a favorite among golfers of all skill levels, providing a much-needed dose of camaraderie and laughter to a sport that can often be as challenging as it is rewarding.

The song’s lyrics paint a vivid picture of a golfer struggling to make par, slicing his drives into the woods, and duffing his chips into the sand. Keith’s self-deprecating humor shines through as he recounts his own golfing woes, admitting that he’s “no Tiger Woods” and that his game is more “hit and pray” than skill and precision.

Despite his struggles, the narrator of the song never loses his love for the game. He acknowledges that golf is “not for the faint of heart” but insists that it’s worth the effort, even for those who are more likely to find themselves in the rough than on the fairway.

The chorus of “Shitty Golfer” is a rallying cry for all those who have ever picked up a club and experienced the frustration of a missed putt or a wayward shot. Keith sings, “There’s a whole lotta folks like me out there / Who ain’t no good at golf, I swear / But we love it just the same / Even though we’re a shitty golfer’s shame.”

“Shitty Golfer” is more than just a funny song about a bad golfer; it’s a celebration of the camaraderie and shared experiences that make golf such a popular pastime. It’s a reminder that even the most skilled players have their bad days, and that the true joy of the game lies not in perfection but in the challenge and the shared experience.

So, the next time you find yourself hacking your way through the woods or three-putting from the green, remember that you’re not alone. There’s a whole community of “shitty golfers” out there who share your pain and your passion for the game. And if you happen to stumble across Toby Keith on the course, be sure to buy him a beer and commiserate over a round of your “not-so-great” golf.Toby Keith Thanks His Fans for the Love and Support

Video 

Lyrics: Shitty Golfer

I’m a shitty golfer, you can ask my wife
I’ve been out there hackin’ every day of my life
I got the shorts and all the plaid sweaters
And new taylormade driver didn’t make me any betterMan, I hit ’em fat and I hit ’em thin
I roll ’em in the bunker’s man, I hit ’em again
Slice ’em in the bushes, crank ’em in a creek
I popped that sucker up and hooked it out in the streetYeah, I’m 245 right down the middle
And I’ll miss the green, to the left just a little
Chili dip a wedge, and put it all together
Hit that son of a bitch right up there in the leather
If you call that good, and let me press on the side
You can put me down for a fiveHey, I’m a shitty golfer, most of us are
But we carry our clubs in the back of our cars
What else you gonna do when you’re out of town
And you need to waste a whole day and shoot another roundMan, I played Augusta, and I played Pebble Beach
And one time at Sawgrass I shot 83
If I live long enough to be 88
I think I’ll celebrate it by shooting my age

Yeah, I’m 245 right down the middle
And I’ll miss the green, to the left just a little
Chili dip a wedge, and put it all together
Hit that son of a bitch right up there in the leather
If you call that good, and let me press on the side
You can put me down for a five, oh yeah
You can put me down for a five

Related Post

HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

You Missed

Country Oldies Musics

HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

Country

THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

Country Oldies Musics

SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

Country Oldies Musics

“YOU MAKE THE COFFEE, I’LL MAKE THE BED.” — GLEN CAMPBELL DIDN’T NEED A LOVE POEM. HE JUST NEEDED AN OKLAHOMA MORNING. In December 1971, Glen Campbell released “Oklahoma Sunday Morning.” It peaked at #15 on the country charts—not his biggest hit by a long shot. But something about this track stuck. It wasn’t about fame or tragedy; it was about coffee, making the bed, and packing a lunch. It was the kind of love that doesn’t make headlines. But the way Glen sang it, you realized he wasn’t just describing a routine. He was singing about the only place that truly felt like home. A kid from a sharecropper’s family of twelve in Delight, Arkansas—who went on to sell 45 million records—poured something deeply personal into this quiet track. Fifty years later, folks across Oklahoma still know every word. Some songs don’t need to reach #1. They just need to be true.