<pre style="line-height: 21.299999237060547px; white-space: normal; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">Walter Ben, Walter Ben.
Went out fishing with his men.
Into a lake, rowed out to the middle,
They fished and fished to the soft sound of a fiddle.
From where the fiddle came, no one knew.
They didn't think twice, until there were two.
The men still fished, as long as they wished.
Until something appeared that wasn't a fish.
Not a fish nor a fiddle,
But right there in the middle
A hand splashed out of the lake
Causing all the commotion it could possibly make.
Walter Ben, Walter Ben.
The bravest man out of all his men,
He steered his boat forward fast
And leaned far over, grabbing that hand fast.
Though he tugged and tugged,
It just wouldn't budge.
Then the fiddles stopped,
Faster than the last tick of an old clock.
Childish laughter came from the lake,
And Walter Ben let out the last Holler he ever did make.
The men still don't quite know,
What Walter Ben saw that made him scared so.
But the men stay away,
From the depths of that bay.
Still no one believes the scared old crew,
And the tales of the lake, old Ben was yanked into.
Walter Ben, Walter Ben.
You should've been as cautious as your men.</pre>
