Fishin’ What Is Fishin’

It makes me laf to hear a lot uv tory chaps set down

Here in the center grocery store – the only one in town –

An’ tell about their fishin’ trips down in the Pine Tree State,

Or in the Adirondack woods, where fishin’s allus great,

To hear ‘em tell uv goin’ out with patent tackle bright

An’ fishin’ there frum dawn till dark an’ not git any bite.

They’d hev a poky sight more fun to drop their rods an’ reels

An’ come with me on “Lizzard Crick” an’ go to spearin’ eels.

Uv course they’re after monstrous game, an’ call it sport to set

All day awaitin’ for the bite that they ain’t like to get;

An' they kin smoke the best cigars an’ sample now an’ then

The bait to see if it is fresh an’ then light up again.

That may be fun for sartin folks, but none uv it for me,

‘Cuz when I go a-fishin’ waal I wanter ketch ‘em, see?

I want ‘em comin’ right along, they can’t be none too thick,

An’ so I take my axe an’ spear an’ go out on the crick.

I cut a hole right through the ice an’ take the good ol’ spear,

An' jab an’ jab her in the mud an’ never hev no fear

But that I’ll get my basketful of fish afore I leave

Without no twenty cent cigars, an’ nothin’ up my sleeve.

You patent tackle fishermen, at home or fur away,

You fellers who to get a “strike” will set around all day,

Ef you should ever care to know how real good fishin’ feels,

Jest come with me on “Lizzard Crick” an’ go to spearin’ eels.

Jan. 14, ‘07