Eight-thirty and the first one's coming through
Chrome wheels, lifted body, flags of something blue
Man behind the wheel's got the look of a man who owns
Every inch of twenty-six miles per hour to his bones
Town's going somewhere one cart at a time
Everybody's got a destination — mine's fine
Golf Cart Saturday, sun just off the bay
Whole town's moving out and in the way
Everything important took the morning off
Golf Cart Saturday — that's enough
Woman in the white one's got a plan, you can tell
Matching cup holders, color-coordinated well
Two tourists in a rental, map on the console tray
Stopped at the intersection looking every way
Town's going somewhere one cart at a time
Everybody's got a destination — mine's fine
Golf Cart Saturday, sun just off the bay
Whole town's moving out and in the way
Everything important took the morning off
Golf Cart Saturday — that's enough
Old man in the last cart, no rush, no yield
A dog on the bench seat, a coffee in the holder
He raised one hand off the wheel as he rolled past my chair
Same wave he's given every Saturday for forty years
And the kid behind him slowed down to do the same
Golf Cart Saturday, sun just off the bay
Whole town's moving out and in the way
Everything important took the morning off
Golf Cart Saturday — that's enough