Pick’relin’ On Lizzard Crick

Yew take it on the mornin’ when the sun is clouded in,

When frum off the waters’ risin’ a steamy vapor thin.

An’ push yewr boat ermongst the pads where lilies nod at yew,

Thet’s when the pick’rel take a bait, an’ take it spiteful, tew.

They ain’t no fishin’ equal to it any place yew go;

A limber pole, a cotton line, a swish a heave an’ tow.

Yew jerk yewr bait erlong the aige an’ purty soon yew’ll see,

A sudd’n swirl, a silver gleam, a tuggin’ enemy.

An’ then yew pull with all yewr might, with knees an’ elbows stiff

An’ out will come a pickerel a-headin’ fur the skiff.

I’ve fished for many kinds uv fish, in brook an’ lake an’ sea,

But pick’rel fishin’ on the Crick is good enough fur me;

They ain’t no gittin’ ready, with a lot uv fuss an’ frills,

They aint no scientific talk erbout the fly they “kills”;

They ain’t no stringin’ up uv gear, uv patent lines an’ hooks,

An’ argerments fur playin’ games yew read erbout in books;

It’s jest a throw ermongst the pads, an’ slop yewr bait erlong,

An' purty soon yewr line will taut an’ settle downward strong,

An' then yew pull with all yewr might, with knees an’ elbows stiff,

An’ out will shute a pickerel a-comin’ fur the skiff.

They ain’t no fishin’ equal to it any place yew go,

A long cane pole, a cotton line, a swish, a heave an’ tow;

It’s music to my fishin’ ear tur hear it swish an’ spat

Upon the surface uv the pond, fust this a’way an’ that.

I’d ruther stan’ thire in the boat an’ swing a limber pole,

Than be the leader uv a band, I would, upon my soul!

I’d ruther feel the tuggin’ uv a pick’rel on my line

Than hol’ a pair uv hosses uv the latest bob’ design.

Yes sur; give me a pickerel fur good excitin’ fun,

An’ Lizzard Crick fur backgroun’ an’ my happiness is won!

April 22, ‘99