Pick’relin Thro’ The Ice

I know the boys are fishin’ down on Lizzard Crick today,

Jest down round there in the bend right where the pik’rel lay;

The weather’s kinder meller an’ it’s warm behind the hill,

An’ that is when the pick’rel bite, when ev’rything is still.

I know thet Billy Buzzy is a-cuttin’ holes today,

An’ baitin’ hooks with shiners in the good ol’ fashioned way;

An’ when he sees a tilt-up bob he steals up in a trice

An’ flops a yeller pick’rel right out upon the ice.

An’ then the campfire on the shore with logs a-lyin’ round,

A lively blaze of driftwood with it’s sizzlin’, crackin’ sound,

Lends cheer and comfort to the scene, an’ I can picter Bill

With ha’f a dozen other chaps close underneath the hill

A-spinnin’ yarns an’ toastin shins, the smoke a-curlin’ high,

An’ sailin’ off in little clouds to meet the wintry sky;

A jolly set of fisher-folk as ever kept from vice,

Whose hearts are full uv happiness when fishin’ through the ice.

I wish thet I could fish today down on ol’ Lizzard Crick,

Jest down around there in the bend where pick’rel lie thick;

I’d like to set a score of hooks an’ bait ‘em up to kill,

An’ run a race for numbers with my good ol’ schoolmate Bill.

An’ then I’d like to toast my shins beside the ol’ campfire,

An’ prove my reputation ez an’ all-round fishin’ liar.

I know my life would be complete, if I could just entice

A few of them big yeller chaps to come out on the ice.

Jan. 30, 1901