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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 flapjacks play! 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 shout hooray; 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." |