82 Bird Day Book 



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FISHING TIME. 



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GEE, but ain't I feeling bum, disinclined to work, 

 Surest sign that spring has come, when I want to shirk. 

 Wisht a cloud would hide the sun, need a good excuse, 

 Just can't get my plowing done, ain't a bit o' use. 

 Hate to waste these balmy days, nature's in her prime ; 

 Every bud and blossom says, "this is fishing time." 



My! that sun is awful hot, like a day in June, 

 Say, I'd just as lief as not quite my job at noon; 

 Take my good old jointed pole and a can o' bait, 

 Down beside the fishing hole, sit and smoke and wait 

 Till the sun begins to drop, an' the shadows climb ; 

 Seems like I could never stop when it's fishing time. 



When a thousand blossoms deck all the dogwood trees, 

 Then I get it in the neck, likewise in the knees ; 

 Appetite is all askew, nothing seems to fit, 

 Only one thing I can do, that's to up an' quit, 

 Take my pole an' hike away ; loafing ain't no crime, 

 I can work another day, this is fishing time! 



— Chicago Tribun.e. 



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