Mr. Station Master
Oh Mister Station Master, I don't dig you
And I'm going out shoppin' for an igloo
'cause standing on your station's
An Antarctic exploration
And a grim scene every morning, to be dragged through
Oh Mister Station Master, Mister Mundane
With your morning-paper mind hung on your watch-chain
I need a team of huskies and a barrel of whisky
To make the other end of the platform
Big fat old lady
Get off of my frost-bite
Otherwise it might just grab at your bag
Oh, Mister Station Master
With your peanut-brain in plaster
Tell me, why'd you draw rude pictures on your posters?
I'm looking for amusement, please believe me
So strip me to my underpants and leave me
And every time he yells "Quite soon now!"
Throwin' out the waiting room
Around my neck at 90 miles-an-hour
My will and testament are on my forehead
My forwarding address is on my hind-leg
Oh Mister Station Master
Lung cancer is much faster
Never mind, I guess my train will be here any day now...
If I was in your onion
We'd both be underneath that ten fifteen
Oh Mister Station Master
You're a national disaster
[ ? ? ? ]
The country could do without the job