“Lizzard Crick Poems" - Bull-Heads

              

                                      "Lizzard Crick Poems"

                                                Bull-Heads

You kin fish fur trout an’ sarmon,

     ‘Ith your patent rod an’ click;

But I’d ruther fish fur bull-heads,

     Down ‘ere side uv Lizzard Crick.

Like to hear ‘em “wicker, wicker”,

     When I yank ‘em out uv ‘ere;

An' tur string ‘em orner stringer,

     Cut erlong the bank somewhere.

Gimme jesser drippy mornin’,

     ‘Ith a limber like birch pole;

An' a cork I stole frum mother,

     An’ a line in “Bull-head” hole.

I hev set ‘ere on a hummock,

     Watin’ fur ‘at cork tur sink;

Counted six ‘fore she’d go under,

     ‘Nen would flop ‘em on the brink.

Ketchin’ bull-head is a science,

     Jest the same ez troutin’ is;

Trick is fur you tur unhook one,

     ‘Thart feelin’ them horns uv his.

“Horn pant’s” what some peoples calls ‘em, –

     Bull-heads is ‘eir proper name;

Call ‘em tad poles if you wanter,

     They is bull-heads jest the same.

O, I tell you, bull-heads, bull-heads!

      Is the monarch uv the stream;

An’ tur ketch a mess this summer

     Is my greates’ pleasure dream.

I ain’t much on poetizin’,

     Grammer, greek nur rithmertick;

But I’m great on ketchin’ bull-heads,

Down ‘ere in ol’ Lizzard Crick.

May 7, ‘94

Pub. in Boston

Courier, Aug. 5, ‘94

                                 Lizzard Crick Poems.

                                                “Bull-Heads.” 

 

You kin fish fur trout an’ sarmon,

     With your patent rod an’ click,

But I’d ruther fish fur bull-heads,

     Down ’ere side o’ Lizzard Crick.

Like tur hear ’em “wicker, wicker”,

     When I pull ’em out o’thire;

An' tur string ’em onner stringer,

     Suthin’ liker music lyre.

 

Gimme jesser drippy mornin’,

     An’ner limber-like birch pole,

An'ner bob I stole frum aunty,

     An’ner line in “Bull-head Hole.”

Offun laid ’ere on my stummick,

     Watchin’ fur my bob tur sink;

Counted six ’fore she’d go unner,

     ’En would flop one on the brink.

 

Ketchin’ bull-heads is er sciunce,

     Jes’ the same ez troutin’ is;

Trick is fur you to unhook ’im,

     ’Thout feelin’ them horns o’ his.

“Horn ‘pout’s what some peoples calls ’em,

     Bullheads is ’eir proper name;

Call ’em tad poles ef you wanter,

     They is bull heads jes’ the same.

 

O! I tell you, bull heads, bull heads!

     Is the monarch uv the stream;

An’ tur ketcher string ’is summer,

     Is my greates’ pleasure dream.

I ain’t much on poetizin’,

     Grammar, greek nur rif’utick;

But I know it’s fun bull-headsin’,

Down ’ere side o’ Lizzard Crick.