[Verse 1] He wakes me up at four like I asked to go, Hooks me to the truck, says, “Baby, let’s roll.” Stops for a biscuit and a gallon of gas, Then buys seventeen lures that look just like the last. He backs me down crooked, blames it on the ramp, Leaves the plug on the console—yeah, that’s where it was at. Then he stomps on my carpet in his muddy old shoes, But I’m the high-maintenance one—whatever you choose. He’s got three Humminbirds glowing on my dash, A Minn Kota up front and no money left in cash. Mega Live shows a largemouth plain as daylight, He throws forty feet past it—then says I ain’t sitting right. [Pre-Chorus] That’s fine. I only brought you to the fish. You missed the hookset, broke your line— But somehow I did this. [Chorus] Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, I’m used to taking heat. I carried you across the lake And put ’em at your feet. You missed her twice, you lost her once, Then blamed it on my wake. I guess I should’ve set the hook And put her in the boat today. Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, That’s what I’m here to do. I’ll take the blame for everything— Except outfishing you. [Verse 2] He calls me “his baby” when his buddies come around, But parks me in the garage and leaves my cover halfway down. Says he’s going to wash me just as soon as we get home— Three trips later, that Chickamauga mud is still on my chrome. He drills another hole because Marshall has a plan, Some bracket needs a bracket for a mount he made by hand. More wires in my belly, more switches on my side, But ask him where the fuse is and enjoy the forty-minute ride. Mushy drops a Bud Light; Matt says, “Wipe it up.” They smear it with a towel, then forget it in my cup. Somebody steps on crankbaits, somebody loses pliers— Then they wonder why I smell like beer and tangled fishing line. [Pre-Chorus] That’s fine. Just leave it there for me. I’m sure sometime between now And next spring, you’ll clean me. [Chorus] Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, I’m used to taking heat. I carried you across the lake And put ’em at your feet. You missed her twice, you lost her once, Then blamed it on my wake. I guess I should’ve set the hook And put her in the boat today. Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, That’s what I’m here to do. I’ll take the blame for everything— Except outfishing you. [Verse 3] He tells his wife I wasn’t nearly what I cost, Says the paperwork got wet and somehow all the receipts got lost. Calls the new electronics “routine maintenance,” Then practices that story with suspicious confidence. Don’t worry, Matt, your secret’s perfectly safe with me— The prop, the rods, the tackle, and that little shopping spree. I won’t mention what you paid or what you bought last week, Long as you remember who looks best behind that Jeep. And when he catches one, Lord, listen to him shout, Takes eleven pictures before he lets the poor thing out. Says, “That one went six,” but I was sitting by the scale— It read four-point-three before he added on the tale. [Pre-Chorus] That’s fine. Tell the story how you wish. I’m only the sole witness— And boats don’t talk… usually. [Chorus] Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, I’m used to taking heat. I found the ledge, I held the line, And kept you in your seat. You broke one off, you missed three more, Then cursed the wind all day. I guess I should’ve tied your knot And taught you how to fish that bait. Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, Make your little story fit. I’ll take the blame for everything— But I ain’t taking credit for it. [Bridge] Who keeps you dry when the weather turns bad? Who makes you look richer than you probably are, Matt? Who holds twenty rods and a month’s worth of gear, While you swear to everybody, “They just weren’t biting here”? Who gets you home when the fuel runs low? Who already knows where your secret spots go? You can trade me tomorrow if you think you can do better— Just explain to the next one why your seats still smell like cheddar. [Breakdown] Oh, you’re buying another rod? How practical. Another box of worms? How responsible. A bigger screen? You can’t hit the fish on this one. But sure, sweetheart— Maybe sixteen inches will fix it. [Final Chorus] Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, I’ve heard it all before. You’ll swear you’re selling everything, Then buy three tackle boxes more. You’ll call me every name you know When something comes unhooked, Then polish me on Friday night So everybody looks. Go ahead, blame the Crooked Hooker, But we both know the truth: You need me more than I need you— I’m just too polite to prove it. [Outro] I’m fast, expensive, hard to handle, And your wife suspects the worst. But you named me Crooked Hooker, honey— So which one of us was crooked first?
