Comin’ Back For More – C.W. McCall – letras

‘Way up in the snowWhere the scrub oaks growAnd the coneys and the picas playWhere the marmots aboundAll a-diggin’ in the groundAnd the wind blows cold all dayThere’s a little pile a’ stonesOn a little pile a’ bonesThat’s a-what the archaeologists sayBut the folks in Lake CityWell, they sing a different dittyIt would like to make your hair turn grayNow, it’s kind’a hard to findBut it’ll altercate your mindIf you happen to go the right wayYou take Slumgullion PassAnd don’t stop for no gasUntil you get yourself to Al’s CaféIt was the genuine, originalHighly pathologicalFinger-lickin’ digital caféIt was Al Packer’s LegendaryCoronary Fast-foodCannibal Bar and BuffetSome dark nightYou gonna see a weird lightUp on Cannibal Plateau, they sayIt’s a scrub oak fireLike a funeral pyreOld Packer’s been a-cookin’ all dayA-when the coyotes howlAnd the cougar’s on the prowlThey ain’t lookin’ for your customary preyNah, they’re waitin’ for bonesIn a pile a’ hot stonesAt old Al Packer’s Café[Chorus]Comin’ back for moreComin’ back for moreBaby, comin’ back for moreAl’s CafeComin’ back for moreComin’ back for moreBaby, comin’ back for more(Old Al PackerWas a real bone-crackerGot lost in a blizzard one day )When the boys went to get ‘imOld Al just et ’emAnd he buried all the bones in the clayNow you know them fellasWasn’t toasted marshmellasAnd they didn’t fall asleep in the hayBut it had been a hard winterSo he had ’em all for dinnerAnd they didn’t find their boots until MayWell, the folks in Lake CityShowed very little pitySo they sentenced him to hang next dayBut before they could noose ‘imOld Al got loose an’He’s a-lookin’ for you, todayBoohoohaha [Courtesy of Chip Davis.][Chorus]Comin’ back for moreComin’ back for moreBaby, comin’ back for moreAl’s CafeComin’ back for moreComin’ back for moreBaby, comin’ back for more(Now ‘way up in the snowWhere the scrub oaks growAnd the coneys and the picas play )Where the marmots aboundAll a-diggin’ in the groundAnd the wind blows cold all dayThere’s a little pile a’ stonesOn a little pile a’ bonesThat’s a-what the archaeologists sayBut the folks in Lake CityWell, they sing a different dittyIt would like to make your hair turn grayNow, it’s kind’a hard to findBut it’ll altercate your mindIf you happen to go the right wayYou take Slumgullion PassAnd don’t stop for no gasUntil you get yourself to Al’s CaféIt was the genuine, originalHighly pathologicalFinger-lickin’ digital caféIt was Al Packer’s LegendaryCulinary Fast-foodCannibal Bar and BuffetSome dark nightYou’re gonna see a weird lightUp on Cannibal Plateau, they say Boohoohaha [Chip again.]It’s a scrub oak fireLike a funeral pyreOld Packer’s been a-cookin’ all dayAnd when the coyotes howlAnd the cougar’s on the prowlThey ain’t lookin’ for your customary prey Aahoohoohoohoo [Yeah, it’s Chip.]Nah, they’re waitin’ for bonesIn a pile a’ hot stonesAt old Al Packer’s Cafe Bleah! [Could it be… Davis?]