once upon a time in the days of yor,
when the people lived fresh out of legend and folklore,
there was an old geezer with his teeth to the curb
he had a hook and a line and a sinker and a worm.
Slept in a city that kissed the seashore
woke with a bait and tackle store trip each morn.
not a bother not alot to say
that is until you ask about the one that got a w-w-w-way.
Like a tall tale, keep it rod and reel
with his arms streched out to define the kill.
While the village always listened, believin it was different?
out of eight million stories there was not a single witness.
It was always at the last second when the line snapped
or the boat broke in half from the size of the catch.
niether way to prove that it exist
so the locals dismissed the big f-f-f-fish
Billygoat beard twenty years in the making
carried lures in his brim, carried beer in his waders
Stinked like alcohol of all prominent flavors
carried knives in his vest, carried war in his nature
sat among the forest floor critters and pinecones,
could tie a perfect fly with his eyes closed.
Veteran angler on a mission [bad word] make all naysayers hold t-t-t-tongues
Pale blue moon or firey orange glow,
red sky at dawn or rain, hail, sleet, snow.
Black storm cloud with the barometric horrors,
the weatherproof sportsman spins yards regardless.
laugh if you wanna but the dude aint stupid.
let it roll off his back like drizzle off plumage.
walks with a twinkle in his eye,
every dog has his day and today is m-m-m-mine.