`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 caf
It was the genuine, original
Highly pathological
Finger-lickin` digital caf
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 caf
[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