It’s March in Maine on the rockbound coast, the fun will start, of that I’ll boast.
I’m chasing elvers all night long, hoping that my back stays strong.
Dipping here and dipping there, I’m praying that my boots don’t tear.
That new guy dipping at my place, he better make room, he better make space.
Those elvers there belong to me, they’re worth a grand, maybe three.
The tide is high, tonight at 10, they better run strong, once again.
I’ve filled my quota and I shouldn’t gloat, with this year’s catch, I’ll buy a picnic boat.