Lyrics
[Intro]
Four days.
Three anglers.
One four-pounder.
Several preventable incidents.
Guntersville—
What could go wrong?
[Verse 1]
Friday afternoon, GAL-uh-tin in the mirror,
Me and T up front, trouble getting nearer.
Mushy and Danielle rolling somewhere behind,
Volume knob on eleven after Bud Light time.
Coming down Monteagle, she said, “Stop at the lookout,”
T and I pulled over trying to figure it out.
Semi brake-check, trucks rumbling through,
They pulled up staring like, “What is wrong with you?”
Wrong mountain, wrong road, but I found her a sign:
“LOOK OUT! FALLING ROCK”—picture time.
Big Mike’s that night, filets hit the plate,
Back to the cabin way too late.
Alarm set 3:30 like responsible men—
Guntersville hadn’t even started with us yet.
[Chorus]
It was the rough weekend down on Guntersville,
If it could go sideways, you know it probably will.
Crooked Hooker running, trying to catch a few,
Every time we solved one problem, here came number two.
Lost a hat, lost a wheel, lost some Oakleys too,
Sprained my wrist, but what else you gonna do?
Four days of fishing and questionable decisions—
Just another Crooked Hooker expedition.
[Verse 2]
Saturday morning, Mushy couldn’t go,
Been sick since three, so it’s me and T for the show.
Mink Creek hydrilla, floating mats stacked,
Green pumpkin red Brush Hog—largemouth attacked.
Five minutes went crazy, keeper after keeper,
About a dozen in the boat, nothing giant but eager.
Two-and-a-half pounders coming over the side,
For a minute Guntersville made us look qualified.
Back by lunch, Sonic, then a nap,
That somehow turned into the end of that.
No supper, no evening bite, called it a day—
Should’ve known Saturday used all our luck away.
[Chorus]
It was the rough weekend down on Guntersville,
If it could go sideways, you know it probably will.
Crooked Hooker running, trying to catch a few,
Every time we solved one problem, here came number two.
Sunday morning before we even hit the lake,
That trailer said, “Boys, how much can you take?”
Four days of fishing and questionable decisions—
Just another Crooked Hooker expedition.
[Verse 3]
Waterfront Bay before daylight broke,
Biscuits and coffee, tackle and hope.
Mushy needed a license, I needed my smokes,
They headed toward Mink Creek—
Then the trailer wheel spoke.
Hazards up ahead, wheel under the frame,
Tire cut to steel, bearing assembly mangled.
Brake caliper chewed, aluminum beat,
That wheel picked Guntersville to admit defeat.
Borrowed lug nuts off the wheels that remained,
Limped that Pro Craft down toward the ramp again.
T’s buddy from Dickson brought a bearing our way,
Thirty-minute repair—
Then we went fishing anyway.
That wheel made Dickson, GAL-uh-tin, Alabama too,
Then Sunday morning said, “That’ll do.”
[Bridge]
Trailer wheel?
Gone.
Tire?
Gone.
Bearing?
Gone.
Oakleys?
Mushy wore ’em on his hat.
Good decisions?
Never packed ’em.
Should we go home?
Absolutely not.
We came here to fish.
[Verse 4]
Back at the cabin, Willie’s in the cooler,
Handed one to Eleven—things got a little quieter.
T told her what was in it, but a little too late,
South Sauty run and she was feeling great.
Then thirty seconds later—
Volume Eleven went mute.
Head over the side, no interest in the crew.
Three hours offline while the rest of us laughed,
Never thought we’d see Eleven finally turn down that fast.
Then Mushy set the hook and saved the whole trip,
Four-pound largemouth with a Guntersville grip.
Biggest fish of the weekend, camera caught the scene,
Eleven couldn’t open her eyes to see.
Storm rolled in, everybody made the run,
Hamburgers at the cabin when the fishing was done.
But Guntersville still had one more score—
Loose gravel waiting outside the truck door.
[Verse 5]
Left foot slid downhill, right leg folded back,
Snap-crackle-pop—yeah, I heard all that.
Caught myself wrong and jammed my wrist,
Eight hundred milligrams and I still went to fish.
Every cast hurt, but I stayed all day,
Because apparently common sense don’t work that way.
Hat gone Saturday, Oakleys disappeared,
Trailer nearly quit and the storm finally cleared.
Monday morning, 6:49,
Loaded everything up for the Tennessee line.
Fuel in Scottsboro, Lebanon too,
Back in GAL-uh-tin by 10:21.
No breakdown.
No injuries.
Nothing fell free.
Nobody got muted.
Nobody blamed me.
The ride home went perfect—
And after that trip,
That might've been the part
That worried me a bit.
[Final Chorus]
That was the rough weekend down on Guntersville,
Where anything can happen—and apparently will.
Crooked Hooker running, still chasing that bite,
Twelve quick keepers and a four-pound highlight.
Lost a hat, lost a wheel, sprained wrist too,
Temporarily lost Volume Eleven from the crew.
But we made it back laughing, so I guess we were winning—
And somehow we're already
Planning the next one.
