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C.w. Mccall The Real Mccall: An American Storyteller Comin' Back For More 'way up in the snow Where the scrub oaks grow And the coneys and the picas play Where the marmots abound All a-diggin' in the ground And the wind blows cold all day There's a little pile a' stones On a little pile a' bones That's a-what the archaeologists say But the folks in lake city Well, they sing a different ditty It would like to make your hair turn gray Now, it's kind'a hard to find But it'll altercate your mind If you happen to go the right way You take slumgullion pass And don't stop for no gas Until you get yourself to al's café It was the genuine, original Highly pathological Finger-lickin' digital café It was al packer's legendary Coronary fast-food Cannibal bar and buffet Some dark night You gonna see a weird light Up on cannibal plateau, they say It's a scrub oak fire Like a funeral pyre Old packer's been a-cookin' all day A-when the coyotes howl And the cougar's on the prowl They ain't lookin' for your customary prey Nah, they're waitin' for bones In a pile a' hot stones At old al packer's café [chorus] Comin' back for more Comin' back for more Baby, comin' back for more Al's cafe Comin' back for more Comin' back for more Baby, comin' back for more (old al packer Was a real bone-cracker Got lost in a blizzard one day ) When the boys went to get 'im Old al just et 'em And he buried all the bones in the clay Now you know them fellas Wasn't toasted marshmellas And they didn't fall asleep in the hay But it had been a hard winter So he had 'em all for dinner And they didn't find their boots until may Well, the folks in lake city Showed very little pity So they sentenced him to hang next day But before they could noose 'im Old al got loose an' He's a-lookin' for you, today Boohoohaha [courtesy of chip davis.] [chorus] Comin' back for more Comin' back for more Baby, comin' back for more Al's cafe Comin' back for more Comin' back for more Baby, comin' back for more (now 'way up in the snow Where the scrub oaks grow And the coneys and the picas play ) Where the marmots abound All a-diggin' in the ground And the wind blows cold all day There's a little pile a' stones On a little pile a' bones That's a-what the archaeologists say But the folks in lake city Well, they sing a different ditty It would like to make your hair turn gray Now, it's kind'a hard to find But it'll altercate your mind If you happen to go the right way You take slumgullion pass And don't stop for no gas Until you get yourself to al's café It was the genuine, original Highly pathological Finger-lickin' digital café It was al packer's legendary Culinary fast-food Cannibal bar and buffet Some dark night You're gonna see a weird light Up on cannibal plateau, they say boohoohaha [chip again.] It's a scrub oak fire Like a funeral pyre Old packer's been a-cookin' all day And when the coyotes howl And the cougar's on the prowl They ain't lookin' for your customary prey aahoohoohoohoo [yeah, it's chip.] Nah, they're waitin' for bones In a pile a' hot stones At old al packer's cafe bleah! [could it be... davis?] |
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