| |  | The mining at the quarry was slow
The miners sat around,
With sharpened drills and dynamite sticks,
And debris upon the ground. | No modern facilities had they,
Only a path along the hill
That led to a shack, marked "Al's Cabin",
An outhouse with some frills. | "Where is the ladies rest room, sir?"
The miner just leaning back,
Smiled, but said not a word,
And nodded toward the shack. | With quickened step she entered there
But to only stayed a minute,
We heard her scream and scream again
Like a spider might be in it. |
 | With startled look and a beet-red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for her car
Just like many gals before. | She missed the foot path, jumped the bank
The lady gave a shout,
As her panty hose, down at her knees
Caught on a oak tree sprout. | She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In an obvious rage of disgust,
Got in her car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust. | Of course we all desired to know
What made the lady do,
The things she did, and then we found
The quarry owner knew. |  | A PA system he had devised,
To make the thing complete,
He had nailed a speaker on the wall
Underneath the toilet seat. | He would wait until a gal got set
And then the devilish tyke,
Would stop his mining long enough,
To speak into the mic. | And as she sat there, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole lady,
We're painting under here!" |
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