By the old hotel at Lakeside, looking southward
'cross the sea,
There's a bright campfire a'burning, and I
know it burns for me.
For the wind is in the pine trees, and the mur-
muring needles say:
Come you back, you pig detective - come you
back to Jones's Bay;
Come you baaaack, to Jonse's Ba-a-a-ay!
Oh, the road to Jones's Bay! Where the flying
You can hear the bacon sizzling from your bed
at break of day.
On the road to Jonse's Ba-hay, we will sing and
A-and when breakfast's ready, they will
bring it o-on a tray!
"Well, well," Freddy said, "I guess I'd better do something to take my mind off my stomach."