'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


Comin' back for more
Comin' back for more
Baby, comin' back for more
Al's Cafe
Comin' back for more - Old Al Packer
Comin' back for more - Was a real bone-cracker
Baby, comin' back for more - 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

Lyrics submitted by Rider_of_the_Sun

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