Travelin’ ’round, Zeke searched for a campground,
he brought some grub but not enough
for the Indian club, staring at him from the ridge.
He read in a book about the ole’ West,
maybe together, they could catch some fish.
The Indians took a feather
and drew an illustration, noting that they didn’t understand.
Where you gonna fish when surrounded by sand?
Zeke scratched his head,
thought for sure he would end up dead,
but the Indians took pity, on the white man’s stupidity.
Zeke shared his book of tall tales
and the Indians chuckled at the credulity.
Can’t always believe what you read about the trails.