They Don'T Bite Like They Used To

He sat there in his fav'rite chair, a blanket 'cross his lap And covering his snow white hair was his old fishing cap. I knew he could not talk to me since suffering the stroke, But still I sensed he could relate to ev'ry word I spoke. "I went and wet a line today ... down where you caught that cod. The biggest one you'd landed yet and though it was my rod I reckon he was yours all right ... but cod are far and few. They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to." "The algae's building up again and stuffing up the creeks, Though at long last we had a fresh, the first in flam’in weeks. Pulled twenty stinking euros in, along with one old dew, But they had sores all over them, though still that's nothing new. The cotton farmers cry, "Absurd! It can’t be from our spray." Perhaps the fish have just got aids from turning flam'in gay. Its getting pretty sad all right, but what can one bloke do. They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to." "McDonalds seems to be the go and good old KFC And eating yellow-belly is a flam'in rarity. Your grandson won't go fishing as he says it's just for nerds And when I take the missus we just end up having words. I really miss our fishing trips, your company was swell And by the mist there in your eyes you miss them dad as well. I heard you sold your tinny mate, your outboard motor too. They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to." They're introducing fingerlings and giving that a shot, But duckweed takes the oxygen which kills the flam'in lot. The droughts have had their toll as well and one thing that's for sure; I can't see in the future dad a remedy or cure. So mum's ducked down to Salty's mate and I would dare a punt She'll come back with a feed of fish before you say Rex Hunt. I guess we'll have to wash it down with some of your home brew. They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."