The Monorail Song

Well, sir, there's nothing on earth Like a genuine, bona fide Electrified, six-car monorail What'd I say? Monorail What's it called? Monorail That's right! Monorail Monorail Monorail Monorail I hear those things are awfully loud It glides as softly as a cloud Is there a chance the track could bend? Not on your life, my Hindu friend What about us brain-dead slobs? You'll be given cushy jobs Were you sent here by the Devil? No, good sir, I'm on the level The ring came off my pudding can Take my pen knife, my good man I swear it's Springfield's only choice Throw up your hands and raise your voice Monorail What's it called? Monorail Once again Monorail But Main Street's still all cracked and broken Sorry, Mom, the mob has spoken Monorail! Monorail! Monorail! Monorail! Mono, d'oh!