A poem from Spare about Tiger

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Tiger Woods Holiday Poem


Twas the night of Thanksgiving and out of the house

Tiger Woods he came flying, chased by his spouse.

She wielded a nine iron and wasn’t too merry,

Because a bimbo’s phone number she found on his blackberry.

He’d been cheating on poor little Elin,

And as each day went by another whore came out squealing.

He’d been on Holly, on Jaimee, on Rachel, on Cori,

On Joselyn, and Kalika, TMZ had the story.

From the top of the world to above the fold,

Tiger’s ever more sorted tale, it was told.

With hostesses, waitresses, he had lots of sex,

And when he wasn’t hosing them, he sent them hot texts.

He crashed his Caddy, but didn’t call OnStar,

Yet he played “spank me daddy” with a skanky old porn star.

He’s been naughty, so with Santa he hasn’t a chance,

Except the big lump of coal that matches the lump in his pants.

But despite all his crying and begging and pleading,

Tiger’s wife went right out, bought a new home in Sweden.

And I heard her exclaim as she packed up the Escalade,

If you’re going to get laid, then I’m going to get paid.

Now she’s not pouting, in fact she’s of good cheer,

Because her prenup made Christmas come early this year.