Crawdad Pie

A barefoot boy on an old dirt road Kicking dust up as he went His lips all puckered, whistling a tune He was happy and content He carried a bucket by the bail Had a cane pole on his back And under his arm, all wrapped up tight Was a burlap gunny sack “Where are you going with all that stuff?” I asked as he skipped on by “I’m headed down to the Jack-Knife Creek To catch Crawdads for a pie”