Morning fog hanging on the spartina grass, Mud minnows flipping where the tide runs past, An old little skiff and a Johnson two-stroke, That Lowcountry water was the first thing I loved. Barefoot kid with a cast net in hand, Learning the rhythm of the creeks and the sand, Daddy saying, “Watch the mullet when they run, That’s where the redfish’ll be when the tide turns up.” Throwing that net in the pink sunrise, Watching silver baitfish sparkle alive, Then easing through the oyster-lined bends, Catching flounder and reds with my best friends. **Hook** ‘Cause my soul lives somewhere in that water, In the Carolina tides rolling slow, Where the marsh breathes life through every daughter and son, And the creek mud gets down in your soul. Now I see my boys standing where I stood, Same old skiff cutting through the woods, And I know some things never really go — Like Lowcountry tides and a fisherman’s soul. Summer heat and mosquito hums, Cold sweet tea and sunburned arms, Poling quiet through the flooded grass, Waiting for a copper back to finally flash. Flounder thumping hard near the muddy banks, Redfish tailing where the creek grass sways, Every cast felt bigger than life itself, Like those waters held a piece of heaven. Now years have gone and my beard has gray, But I still feel that same pull every day, Only difference now is there’s little hands, Learning to throw that cast net just like I did then. I watch my sons laugh when the bait starts jumping, Wide-eyed when the drag starts running, And somewhere deep in that sunset glow, I see my old man smiling in the gold. **Hook** ‘Cause my soul lives somewhere in that water, In the Carolina tides rolling slow, Where the marsh breathes life through every daughter and son, And the creek mud gets down in your soul. Now I see my boys standing where I stood, Same old skiff cutting through the woods, And I know some things never really go — Like Lowcountry tides and a fisherman’s soul. Bridge: The world moves fast but the creeks stay the same, Moon tides rising like they always came, And every generation leaves a wake behind, Passing down more than fish and lines. Final Hook: Yeah, my soul lives somewhere in that water, Under painted skies at the edge of dusk, Where redfish roll and the marsh birds fly, And old memories still come alive. One day my boys’ll bring their sons along, Through those same old creeks where we belong, And the tide’ll carry what words never told — That the Lowcountry lives deep in your soul.
