Ballad of the Home Fisherman

I’ve heard these fellers comin’ round an’ tellin’ wondrous tales

About their fishin’ trips abroad, where trout grow big ez whales,

Where sarmon tow their boats around, an’ muscultonge ez long

Ez what a good sized hoss would be an’ twenty times ez strong.

I’ve heard ‘em tell uv fightin pike upon a tenounce pole

An hour or more afore they’d git him under their control.

Uv how they’d git a tarpon on, say 60 pounds or more,

Which they would hev to trim afore they’d git him on the shore.

Now I might swaller some uv this, say ez to length an’ size,

Becuz I allus plan to b’lieve all kinds uv fishin’ lies,

But when they speak uv drownin’ fish, which fellers tell fur facts,

I callate it is time to stop an’ sharpen up my axe.

Now I kin tell a fairish yarn, an’ hol’ my own, they say,

But when it comes to ‘drownin’ fish’, I’ve nothin’ more to say;

I jest give up the palm to them who’ve travelled quite a lot,

Becuz I’ve allus set tight here in this same quiet spot.

Now I can stan’ a fishin’ lie that’s reasonable and fair,

An’ allus try to draw one out ef I am where they air;

I allus like to help a man ef he’s a yarn to tell,

Pervidin’ he will stick to facts an’ tell his story well.

We should encourage gen’uses no matter what their line,

Peeaner players, or fishermen, it’s all the same fur mine!

An’ so I say, I like to hear a fishin’ lie immense

Ef it hez got enough uv truth to hol’ it on the fence.

I’ve never fished in them big lakes, or in the open sea,

An’ ez fur fancy fishin’ rods, I don’t know what they be,

But I hev fished here more or less, an’ allus ketched a few,

An’ I don’t mind relatin’ one small incident to you.

It may sound strange to them who don’t know ‘bout the fishin’ creed,

But it’s ez true ez any yarn uv its perticlar breed.

An’ though the string uv fish I ketched wuz dead ez dead could be,

They wuzn’t ‘drownded’ like the ones he landed, no sir-ee.

Wuz out at break o’ day one time fur pickerel an’ took

My trollin’ line two hundred feet, an’ put upon the brook

A nice young perch three inches long, an’ rowed way up the crick

Where lily pads an’ medder oats jes’ line the channel thick.

Bimeby I felt a little pull, an’ dropped my oars aback

An’ started to pull in my fish when somethin’ come “awhack”

Against my line; I pulled an’ pulled, an’ back fur’s I could look

I seen a fish come up an’ grab the one ‘twas on my hook.

Waal, now I wuz excited, an’ I pulled away like fun,

An’ when I got him near the boat, up comes a bigger one

An’ swallers him, head neck and heels, an’ then I hed a scrap

To git that feller in, he wuz sech a tremenjus chap!

I hed three pick’rel, one inside the other on my line;

An’ ef that ain’t a novelty, why I hed best resign.

I say, I like a fishin’ yarn, one uv no small pretense,

Ef it hez got enough uv truth to hol’ it on the fence!

Aug. 13, ‘09