'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 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 Caf¨¦     It was the genuine, original  Highly pathological  Finger-lickin' digital caf¨¦  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?]