The high-brow hoitie-toitie thinks his method is elite,
when history has seen him regularly accept defeat.
He pokes and he snears at other fisherman's choice of gear,
to distract us from the fact his method is more than a little queer.
When he finally scores a fish he thinks he's really trick,
But it only proves he's exceptionally, exceptionally thick.
He carries photos of his miraculous success to show others his quarry,
the fly rod in hand tells the entire gay ass story.
In the end this will always be true,
while my arms are sore from playing fish,
he'll be busy crying, "I'm phuckin' due, I'm phuckin' due, I'm phuckin' due."