We are riding across the bounding main Steering an old funky-ass bateau 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'd better get up, gonna rise up And take my place on the baited line