Scatsville

Ran to Penn Station and mad my train

Immediately fell asleep until I heard

The conductor say: "Next stop

Where-it's-Atsville."

Sunlight on the Hudson an amber glow

Like "Crepuscule with Nellie" dialed

Down low

When I reached my stop

The platform sign said: "Scatsville."

I said: "Wait!" and I turned around

But the doors where closed and the train

Was gone

And I though: "This ain't

Where-I-hang-my-Hatsville."

And the question I asked of each passerby

Was met with the same singsong reply:

"Jack, you are now in Scatsville."

It's the language of madmen

When you talk through your hat

My Eleventh Commandment's:

"Thou Shalt Not Scat!"

Mr. Feather sighed and he seemed

Depressed

When I complained of scat on my

Blindfold Test

So how

How'd I get to Scatsville?

Live every saxophonist who play bop

It's a little habit that hard to stop

One day you find yourself in Scatsville

With all the cats in Scatsville