Man what a winter,
Sorrow wide and deep.
Is it just the media industry or the whole country
That is turning into sheep?
I wanna go to a good place
With a friend of mine,
Cast our souls out in the river
And watch the whole deal shine.
Some little crick in Massachusetts, just over the hill,
Oh I, I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
Well, Bill, I bet he is a good fly caster.
He grew up on these eastern brooks.
Me, I grew up on the midwestern cricks
Casting crappie flies for chubs and such.
But in my young imagination,
I watched a Number 20 Coachman settle down,
Sitting by the stove in that little library
Reading Roderick L. Haig Brown.
I never did fish in Vancouver. I probably never will.
I don't care. I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
Well, it's a long and noble tradition,
Catching trout on the fly.
When you're done, with the setting of the sun,
Gonna drink a little bourbon if you're dry.
See some folks out on the river,
Cool, scientific and clean.
They look like everything just kinda stuck to them
The last time they walked through ol' L. L. Bean.
My friend, Dave, says the good fishermen are the ones who have fun and we will.
Oh I, I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
Sittin' in a bar in Brattleboro
Thinkin' about one of his songs.
The rain was pourin' down, and I was pourin' it down,
And all I could do was hum along.
We've talked about goin' fishin' so often
At some party when the gig was done.
Well, life slips by like a little dry fly
Sliding down a deep slick run,
So let us stand steady like an old mill.
Oh I, I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
Maybe Handsome Molly will pass by
As we cast away the hours.
Somewhere on a river somewhere far away
From stupid people in positions of power.
Someday when we ain't folk singers
Flyin' through the friendly skies.
We won't be waiting for the big break
Or anything except the evening rise
On some spring crick in Wisconsin or maybe the Batten Kill.
Oh I, I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
I'm goin' fishin' with Bill...um um um,
I'm goin' fishin' with Bill...yes, I am,
I'm goin' fishin' with Bill.
