Fishin's is the tavern on the corner of my block. Silent old burnt faces they suit when you rushly move in front. By anchors and hooks you feel inspired, and from the bravery of this folks, you aim to built your spine. Its in your culture and in your blood, Fishy fishy old mud! Squared flannels, hats and nets, sunken lives in the stormy rides. Long fishin nights, with no warm fish fries.