He rises in the morning Long before the sun. You know he won't be home again Until the night has come. He gathers up his tackle He piles up his gear At four o'clock in the morning, You know Saturday is here. His minnows are his buddies His rod is his best friend, His boat, his prized posession, It's life he will defend. He says he won't be in late, He says that he won't linger. Just like the fish, we swallow it, Hook, line, and sinker! So all you football widows, Consider yours, the luck. For all the fish in Charleston, I wouldn't give a buck! |