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lyrics

Covered in stones, gamer-Goya impact holes
Hairline birdseed no answer, he’s living off the derby dough
Sitting in the way back, looking for a waitress
You ain’t got to carry him home
Sometimes I dip so low

Knock it off knucklehead, permanent as lightning
Snake eyes forecast just shit talking ‘bout a classified Hearst on skis
Bobbing on the plain blue water underneath you
A rebel with a doozy dream
Blackberry cough, oh me

Caledonia King Fish gasping in my face
As he slips down underneath
I’m keeping him close and clean

Well he’s gone south, but he’s building
Double time trying to get it right
Rubbernecking on his wife
Lord he loved his little honey pie

He nearly collapsed, bare naked turkey tracks
Moondog callsign, cursive bossman polluted on the witness stand
I’m konked out on the hybrid, crosstown hitting rewind
A juvenile big rig wreck
Partial smile, don’t mind dad

Well he’s gone south, but he’s building
Double time trying to get it right
Rubbernecking on his wife
In the old south there’s a stillness
On the pines where the beer cans pile
Bona fide personal idol
Climbing up the staircase shining
Lord he loved his little honey pies

credits

from Masters of the Fishing Spear, released July 9, 2016

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