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Written by: Barry P. Foley
© 12 November  2004

I got a letter, from mama, said  „Boy, when are you coming home“
Your Dad wants to go fishing, but he won’t go alone
Cause all of his old fishing buddies have all up and died
He won’t ask you himself, you know about his foolish pride

I caught the first plane to Great Falls, hired a car from the airport lounge
Drove two hours north in the rain,  got home as the sun as went down

Next day, took my Dad fishing, rowed him out to his favorite hole
He sat there, didn’t say much and I realized he’d gotten old
Then he said „Son, I gotta tell you, just how happy you make me today“
“The catfish ain't biting and the fishin' is downright bad!,
 but the beer is ok!”

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