[Intro — rollicking banjo, fiddle, stomping boots, honky-tonk piano] [Verse 1 — cheerful, nostalgic storytelling] I grew up down in the holler Where the creek runs muddy brown Me and my buddy Billy Ray Were the smartest boys in town We never cared for fishin’ poles Or sittin’ in the shade We liked to get our supper In a more excitin’ way Billy Ray would holler, “Boy, we’re gonna eat tonight!” And every critter in the county Would run away in fright [Chorus — HUGE, stupid, drunken singalong] DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Ain’t no better way to spend the day! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Sometimes the fish get away! We got a cooler full of beer And Billy Ray’s got nine fingers But we’re goin’ dynamite fishin’ today! [Verse 2 — gleefully ridiculous] Now Billy Ray was special He was one of a kind He could fix a busted tractor But he couldn’t read a sign He lost a finger one July And never shed a tear Said, “Hell, I still got nine of ’em, Now hand me another beer!” We laughed until the sun went down And Mama called us home Billy Ray said, “One more cast!” And I said, “Leave it alone!” [Chorus — bigger, rowdier] DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Ain’t no better way to spend the day! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Sometimes the fish get away! We got a cooler full of beer And Billy Ray’s got nine fingers But we’re goin’ dynamite fishin’ today! [Verse 3 — escalating disaster] One Sunday after church We took the preacher to the lake He said he’d heard about our fishin’ And thought he’d try his luck that day He climbed aboard the little boat And started sayin’ grace Then something made a mighty noise And knocked the smile right off his face The preacher started hollerin’ About the judgment of the Lord Billy Ray said, “Reverend, You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, good Lord!” [Bridge — music drops, narrator suddenly sentimental] Sometimes I sit and wonder Where those golden summers went The days were long, the nights were warm And every dime was spent Billy Ray ain’t changed a bit He’s still my oldest friend He says he’d do it all again… [Pause] If he could count to ten. [Final Chorus — absolutely enormous, fiddle going berserk] DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Ain’t no better way to spend the day! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! DYNAMITE FISHIN’! Sometimes the fish get away! We got a cooler full of beer And Billy Ray’s got nine fingers But we’re goin’ dynamite fishin’ today! [Outro — banjo and fiddle, drunken gang vocals] Dynamite fishin’! Dynamite fishin’! [Spoken — narrator, proudly] “Billy Ray ain’t never been too bright… But he sure could count to nine.” [Band stops] [Spoken — Billy Ray, off-mic] “Eight.” [Silence] [Final banjo pluck]
