The Baited Line

We are riding across the bounding main Steering an old funky-ass bateau, oh We arrive in time for the dawn of day Most of us strain to the utmost And no one does less than his best So I better get up, better rise up And take my place on the pulling line Caulk and duct tape keep us all afloat It's not good to want a thing too much Drives luck away down, down the road But now and then, the air vibrates And the water roars And the music of the catch rose up Like a choir of harps and horns Everyone strains to the utmost And no one does less than his best So I better get up, better rise up And take my place on the baited line