'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



Now you know them fellas

Wasn't toasted marshmellas

And they didn't fall asleep in the hay

But it had