[Verse 1] I was sitting there spotless when he brought me home, Shining like a diamond with my trailer chrome. He walked around smiling, said, “She’s one of a kind.” Now I’m full of empty bottles and old fishing line. Twenty rods on my deck, thirty bags underneath, Seven pairs of rusty pliers scratching up my seats. Then he tells his buddies that I’m hard to keep clean— That is bold from a man spilling mustard on me. He says I ride rough when the afternoon blows, But he never works the trim—he just hammers and goes. Hits a wave sideways, knocks his drink in the floor, Looks down at my console like it’s something I did wrong. [Pre-Chorus] I’m not calling him the problem. That would probably hurt his pride. I’m only pointing out one fact: I go where he decides. [Chorus] You call me Crooked Hooker Like you’re some innocent man. I go exactly where you drive me; I just do the best I can. When you miss another hookset, Don’t look at me like that. I found the fish and held you still— The rest was up to Matt. You call me Crooked Hooker, But everybody at the ramp can see: I’m not the one that’s crooked, honey— You’re the one steering me. [Verse 2] He’s got Humminbirds glowing everywhere you look, Mega Live showed the largemouth before it ever bit the hook. Target Lock held steady, Minn Kota did its part, He threw behind the fish, then blamed the graph. He buys the newest tackle every Thursday night, Says, “This color’s different”—well, if you hold it in the light. Throws it twice, gets nervous, ties on what he threw before, Then spends another hundred trying to solve it at the store. He’ll follow one smallmouth halfway across the screen, Talking like a surgeon in an operating scene. “Here she comes… she sees it… now she’s turning… let it fall…” Fish swims off, and somehow I’m responsible for it all. [Pre-Chorus] I’m not saying he can’t fish. I would never be that mean. I’m just saying all that talent Has been difficult to see. [Chorus] You call me Crooked Hooker Like you’re some innocent man. I go exactly where you drive me; I just do the best I can. When you miss another hookset, Don’t look at me like that. I found the fish and held you still— The rest was up to Matt. You call me Crooked Hooker, But everybody at the ramp can see: I’m not the one that’s crooked, honey— You’re the one steering me. [Verse 3] He catches one at daylight, says she might go five, By lunch she weighs six pounds and barely fit inside. At the gas station that evening, she’s the biggest of the year— I was sitting by the scale, but apparently I can’t hear. He takes eleven pictures, holds her toward the phone, Says, “The camera makes her smaller”—that’s a scientific tone. Posts the best one later with the location stripped away, But I’ve got every waypoint from the entire fishing day. He says his spots are private, classified and sealed, Then follows three boats straight into the community hole field. Calls it “doing research,” says he found it on his own— I keep quiet, but my mapping unit knows. [Pre-Chorus] I could tell a few good stories. I could straighten every fact. But I’m loyal to my fisherman— Even when he talks like that. [Bridge] Who gets him out before the morning light? Who carries all his tackle and brings him back at night? Who holds him on the waypoint when the north wind starts? Who looks good in every picture while he crops out half his arm? Who knows every stump he hit and every fish he missed? Every lure he said he lost that’s lying underneath my seat? He may call me difficult, but here’s the honest truth: If I ever started talking, Matt, I’d embarrass you. [Breakdown] But sure— Buy another rod. Add another screen. Drill another hole in me For something you don’t need. Bring Mushy and the Bud Lights. Leave the tackle in a pile. I’ll be right here waiting… Since apparently that’s my life. [Final Chorus] You call me Crooked Hooker Like you’re some innocent man. I go exactly where you drive me; I just do the best I can. When you break one off at boat-side, You can cuss and throw your hat. But don’t kick my trolling motor— It tied a better knot than Matt. You call me Crooked Hooker, And honestly, I like the name. Because whenever fishing goes wrong, I’m the one who takes the blame. I’m fast, expensive, good-looking, And the finest on the lake. You can say that you control me— We both know that claim is fake. [Outro] He’ll complain about me all day, Then polish me all night. Call me Crooked Hooker, Matt— Just make sure you spell it right.
