I met some fishermen in the showers
Of April on the pier
They said March or die
I said how can I
When you've covered my DNA queer?
You've queered the pitch
You've tarred and bitch
You men of roads and gears
You've rolled my soul
In stones and potholes
And I've come up covered in
leers, jeers,
I've risen up like a mountain
But my head has been eroded down
And now all that's left is a reptilian husk
Of the royal stem which once wore a crown
I met the fishermen
They said do you like fishing?
Are you going fishing
Well are you?
In Weymouth, I said,
some do, he said
He had this sweaty loss on him
This punter's cruelty
Of the King Arthur in Glastonbury
It's like a sickbed
They use a Noble name
And the customer's think
Somehow through Osmosis
Or through drinking the beer
That they've absorbed some of his might
And right and Majesty
But it's built on a poisonous well
And they are drinking from a poisoned chalice
And if they're looking for the Holy Grail
Well they've found a town called Malice
I don't think Glastonbury is well
Down there it's a fishing port
It's a hard place, it's a cruel sport
Fishing
They would be better off calling it
The Bait and Tackle
As that's all they end up doing
Trying to catch each other out
Laying traps for unsuspecting fish to bite
I met some fishermen
and asked them how they bait their fish
They said we can use maggots, worms, flies
Mosquitoes
Depends on what size Fish
The prize determines the size
Of insect
I said how did you learn to bait like that?
They told me years of practice
And night school
We had to join a guild
The FOMB
The FOMB I said pray what does that stand for?
Fear of mis-baiting? I suggested
No they said it stands for
The Federation of Master Baiters
Oh I said you must feel great pride
They nodded and carried on
