My daddy and I used to go fishin'
We would go every Sunday
But now I'm just a wishin'
Maybe he'll come back one day
Daddy put on his uniform one morn
He gave me a squeeze and a great big hug
I just stared at him, eyes full of scorn
His words were about being a good little bug
So, each Sunday morn, I come down to the dock
my pole strung with spinners and weights
I keep my eyes on the old town clock
Pres'dent needs to send daddy to the states
Daddy came back home, but he's in a box
No more hugs, no more fishin'
On his grave sits a pile of rocks
No more time wasted wishin'
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