FISHIN' 253 



FISHIN' 



WILLIAM A. THOMSON. 



Settin' 'long th' crick afishin', 



Waitin' fer a bite, 

 Where th' water's cool an' swishin', 



Settin' there from morn till night. 

 Laws ! I wisht wuz allers summer, 



Didn't hev t' go t' school ; 

 Why I'd jest set'n keep on fishin' — 



Sakes alive! jest see that pull. 

 Got 'im ? Bet yer life I got 'im, 



Take me fer a gol dern fool ! 



See them cranes away up yonder 



Sailin' thro' th' sky ; 

 Laws ! I wisht I hed my gun er 



Sumthin'. Make the feathers fly? 

 Well, I guess. Y'orter see me 



Bringin' down that chicken hawk 

 What ctole our Mandy's yeller hen 



An' 'en y'd hev no room t' talk. 

 (Ef I don't git er bite right soon 



Guess I'll hev t 'take a walk.) 



Settin' 'long th' crick afishin', 



Waitin' fer a bite ; 

 Laws ! there ain't no sport like fishin', 



Fishin's bully — git that right ! 

 In the mornin' when th' birds 



Is singin' an' th' air is cool, 

 In the evenin' when th' frogs 



Is hollerin' in ev'ry pool — 

 Show a feller don't like fishin' 



And I'll show a gol dern fool. 



