FUCKIT_LETSGOFISHIN'! (Yin Remix)

deathcore, brutal death metal, metallic hardcore

+ Show full styles

[Verse 1: bouncy riff, playful delivery]
South end, old Skyway, middle of the night,
Harmon’s watching water. I’m out like a light.
No patience for fishing, but I’m glad I came.

[Shout, sudden silence]
“NICHOLAS! GET UP!”

[Band crashes in]
Now it’s raining mackerel. I’m catching ’em barehanded.
He’s hauling in another before the last one’s landed.

CAST! YANK! FISH!
CAST! YANK! FISH!

Fed half the bridge, still had some to spare.
I slept through the fishing. Woke up in fish welfare.

[Chorus: sing-song hook, heavy bounce]
Fuck it, let’s go fishin’!
Got a whole lot of nothing to do.
Might catch hell, might catch dinner,
Might just sit and talk with you.
Let the line out. Let the day go.
Let the world do what it do.
Fuck it, let’s go fishin’!
Save a little room in that canoe.

[Verse 2: stripped-down groove]
Years rolled on. My girl and I split.
Bags on the floor, sleeping on my shit.
Harmon came around, let me get it off my chest.
Said, “I haven’t got a bed. I’m a fucking mess.”

He grinned.
“Let’s go fishin’.”

Fourth Street bridge, just me and him.
Not a bite all day. Things were looking grim.
Then something hit the water with a hell of a splash.
Queen-size bed in a plastic wrap.

[Spoken, instruments stop]
…Do we need a bigger hook?

[Breakdown: nursery-rhyme cadence]
ROW, ROW, ROW THE BOAT!
KEEP THAT FUCKING BED AFLOAT!
ROW, ROW, GET TO SHORE!
I AIN’T SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR!

[Bridge: warm, clean guitar]
Up on his truck, both laughing like fools.
Went out for fish. Came home with a bedroom.
Cleaned it, dried it. Still sleep there today.
He couldn’t fix my life.
But he got me through that day.

[Final chorus: full band, gang vocals]
Fuck it, let’s go fishin’!
Got a whole lot of nothing to do.
Might catch hell, might catch dinner,
Might bring home a queen-size, too.
Let the line out. Let the day go.
Let the world do what it do.
Fuck it, let’s go fishin’!
Save a little room in that canoe.

[Outro: toy piano, spoken]
Don’t know if the universe listens.
Harmon does.

Next time I’m telling him
I need fucking gold bull-yins.

[Final band hit]
CAST! YANK! GOLD!

2093/7500

[Verse 1: bouncy riff, playful delivery] South end, old Skyway, middle of the night, Harmon’s watching water. I’m out like a light. No patience for fishing, but I’m glad I came. [Shout, sudden silence] “NICHOLAS! GET UP!” [Band crashes in] Now it’s raining mackerel. I’m catching ’em barehanded. He’s hauling in another before the last one’s landed. CAST! YANK! FISH! CAST! YANK! FISH! Fed half the bridge, still had some to spare. I slept through the fishing. Woke up in fish welfare. [Chorus: sing-song hook, heavy bounce] Fuck it, let’s go fishin’! Got a whole lot of nothing to do. Might catch hell, might catch dinner, Might just sit and talk with you. Let the line out. Let the day go. Let the world do what it do. Fuck it, let’s go fishin’! Save a little room in that canoe. [Verse 2: stripped-down groove] Years rolled on. My girl and I split. Bags on the floor, sleeping on my shit. Harmon came around, let me get it off my chest. Said, “I haven’t got a bed. I’m a fucking mess.” He grinned. “Let’s go fishin’.” Fourth Street bridge, just me and him. Not a bite all day. Things were looking grim. Then something hit the water with a hell of a splash. Queen-size bed in a plastic wrap. [Spoken, instruments stop] …Do we need a bigger hook? [Breakdown: nursery-rhyme cadence] ROW, ROW, ROW THE BOAT! KEEP THAT FUCKING BED AFLOAT! ROW, ROW, GET TO SHORE! I AIN’T SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR! [Bridge: warm, clean guitar] Up on his truck, both laughing like fools. Went out for fish. Came home with a bedroom. Cleaned it, dried it. Still sleep there today. He couldn’t fix my life. But he got me through that day. [Final chorus: full band, gang vocals] Fuck it, let’s go fishin’! Got a whole lot of nothing to do. Might catch hell, might catch dinner, Might bring home a queen-size, too. Let the line out. Let the day go. Let the world do what it do. Fuck it, let’s go fishin’! Save a little room in that canoe. [Outro: toy piano, spoken] Don’t know if the universe listens. Harmon does. Next time I’m telling him I need fucking gold bull-yins. [Final band hit] CAST! YANK! GOLD!

0/500