John McCutcheon Dry Land Fish
When the springtime's here and the rains come down, (haul away, boys, haul her)
Our crew sets down from Harlan town (we'll rove the hills and hollers)
When the forest floor is fertile and moist
The dry land fish is the finest choice
So haul her in, boys, haul away
For three short months from March to May
If we miss her there's more hell to pay
So grab your pokesacks, cast your wish
We'll range these mountains for the dryland fish
Midst the ash and elm and sycamore
Cast your sights to the forest floor
Where the old trees die and the roots are rotten
That's where the dry land fish are gotten
They poke their heads through the moss and sod
There lies the dry land fish by God
When are bags and our trucks are full
We'll sell ‘em for a fortune in Louisville
You got your goldenseal and ginsengs fine
For the dry land fish in the cool springtime