Fishin’ Days On Ol’ “Lizzard”

  

They’s just one place I’d like to be on winter day like these,

And that ain’t round no red hot stove or furnace if you please;

It ain’t in no steam-heated flat or office snug and nice,

It’s way down on ol’ “Lizzard Crick” a fishin’ through the ice.

I reckon on a day like this the boys are purty thick

A tendin’ tilt-ups on the ice allup an’ down the crick;

An’ some are spearin’ after eels in “Perch” an’ “Bullhead Holes”,

A-jabbin’ in the spongy mud with long and limber poles.

An’ some are settin’ on the bank a-warmin’ hands an’ toes,

Around the cracklin’ driftwood fire that ev’rybody knows;

“Ol’ Devil’s Fireplace”, in the “bend”, there’s where they like to stay

An’ brag about the fish they ketched in some long by-gone day.

A log is stretched afore the fire, an’ here they set an’ chin

Until they see a tilt-up bob an’ then they’re off ag’in.

Tobacco never tastes so good, or stories seem to please

As down there on ol’ Lizzard “Crick” on fishin’ days like these.

Jan. 18, ‘09