Down by the sea
The coconuts sway
Wind in the afternoon
Cooling the day

The birds fly like gliders
With hungry eyes for prey
As the crabs slip into their tunneled holes
Saying no fucken way

Some parts of sanctuary
Hold Indian seminars from Bombay
Who walk the nature coastline
Wearing sneakers from LA

A couple of hot tourists
Cover the beach in white
Two topless women
An indian delight

And stray dogs follow owners
Who gave scraps at ten
Now for ever hold your peace my friend
Youre now the eternal send

But what catches the eye
As Indian surf rolls true
Is the Indian fisherman
With a rod and no shoes

His rod is bamboo
With a long piece of string
A hook and some bait
And a casual fling

Like Tom Sawyer_Huckleberry
Rods from the past
But he sure caught those fish
Which is some what of a blast

It dont matter what rod you got
Like western flash supreme
It dont matter how much it costs
Cause fishing aint a scene

Its how you cast your pride and joy
To fill the family hole
Fish dont get caught with money
They get caught from the soul.