Oh snap, the Old Trout’s back with a boat full of gas and loads of new tackle. Thrown in the path of a sword that I’m going to get like I’m magnet fishing the moat of a castle. I’m loving this stuff, gonna get a bum wrist subtracting a ton of big fish off my bucket list. I like to hit the water chum equipped plus bring stuff equally fun as a thunder stick. Yep! All of these minnows are getting ate. I switch to artificial lures when I’m out of bait. You can find me sitting in the middle of a lake with a shanty or a pontoon depending on the date and I wait. If they bite less than a dog in a muzzle, or you get skunked that’s part of the struggle. I’ve missed more than fog in the jungle but I look at everything like a solvable puzzle. Soon enough they will be there to play, biting the hook and get carried away. Even when my hair is gray, I’m preparing to slay then I find them like Jeremy wade. My memory level is higher than cheap monofilament mixed with the strength of a braid. I care what I say and intend to be using comparable line’s that barely fray. Not a Scottish dance, kilt on a jig that got a skirt like it’s bouncing with squealing tires. Going in depth swimmingly similar to the deepest diver or reef admirer. I reel in a needle nose gar and i’m hardly in need of pliers. Feeding um shiners in the south. Catching Largemouth that are bigger than Steven Tyler‘s.


If you wanna go fishing then I’m down, down, down.
A big one’s going down, down, down.
When I write a verse I put it down, down, down.
Connecting words I got it down, down, down pat.
When I’m sad I’m down, down, down.
My winter coat is filled with down, down, down.
But it’s not like being padded down, down, down.
At the end of the day I’m laying down, down, down.


In the ground you can dig for worms. Better grip em early they ain’t just for birds. Throw em on a rig and let them sink and submerge to get a sturgeon or some bottom feeders in the rivers. I don’t keep those but I skillet a perch when I’m feeling the urge, working on my skill with a verse. String the walleye like the illest of words if they’re written in cursive then the grilling occurs. I’m a rook, always straight with the lines in 2 ways and catchy adding hooks to either every few days. Breaking a wall down without drinking the koolaid as a Mexican, If you can say the same then touché. I’m human race chilling at the top of the food chain. I’ll (come bust/combust) like blue flames from butane. Fighting everything considered as some huge game. I’m Bruce Wayne fused with Hwoarang and Lui Kang. Getting the kicker to go. This bigger motor just isn’t as slow. Drifting in wind or positioning with the current flow is not as consistent to troll. I stick to the goal even if it’s beginning to snow. Living in Michigan’s cold so whenever it’s winter, I’m switching back to little poles and drilling some holes. Spinning a hand auger, fishing is damn hard for edible stuff in the vicinity of Ann Arbor because of PFAS in the water. I hit the Great Lake charters up. On occasion I’ve traveled farther. Ate more than a shark swimming through a packed harbor. Caught tagged fish without spray paint or black marker. Got a Garmin and plan to mark em. Call me the bass brawler. Pro with this trade, I’d say I can barter.


If you wanna go fishing then I’m down, down, down.
A big one’s going down, down, down.
When I write a verse I put it down, down, down.
Connecting words I got it down, down, down pat.
When I’m sad I’m down, down, down.
My winter coat is filled with down, down, down.
But it’s not like being padded down, down, down.
At the end of the day I’m laying down, down, down.