It's up in Fox Island prosperity lies,
Mackerel are plenty, but not many flies;
Business is booming, starvation's unknown,
Bananas, and oranges, and peaches are grown.

It's in this big city great people do dwell,
Ten story houses, you all know them well;
There's Dailys, and Reinholds, McDuffs by the score,
The Fogarty boys have their huts by the shore.

There's railway stations, hotels, and cafes,
Churches, cathedrals where George Reinhold prays;
Radio stations, art galleries a few,
And you come through the subway on the six-thirty-two.

One night we decided to have us some fun,
We're all feelin' frisky with plenty of rum;
To Reinhold's back doorstep we goes on the drunk,
And the rum in our bellies was sure gettin' hot.

There's dancin', and singin', and sittin' on chairs,
When suddenly we hears a queer noise on the stairs;
The door it flies open and Abbie comes down,
In a big woolen night dress she looks like a clown.

Says, George can't make that dollar if he don't get his sleep,
There is too much singin' and stampin' of feet;
The party's all over, it sure was a fright,
Now we won't get to Abbie's till next Sunday night.

So, it's up in Fox Island prosperity lies,
Mackerel are plenty, but not many flies;
Business is booming, starvation's unknown,
Bananas, and oranges, and peaches are grown.

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