Thereís no side-by-side aficionado finer than Frank Finch
No, siree, now, thatís a cinch!
When the birds are flying high and fast
You can count on pheasant for our repast.
And if the targets are clay pigeons
He will crush them all to smidgens.
The striped bass are running along the Jersey shore
If it werenít for the limit Frank would catch even more.
Heís a sportsman, hook line and sinker
Not a vegan, sissy or a stinker.
Finch is a stoic, John Wayne man of few words
And nary a one of them would qualify as turds.
Hurrah, Frank, four score!
Now go for yet dozens more!
John Kuhn Bleimaier