Listen all you children to my sad refrainAbout a subway conductor on a runaway trainSqueezing people into cars, he won his fameAnd John Charles Cohen was the great man's nameJ. C. Cohen, what a great conductorIRT that's a subway lineAnd if you gotta travel uptownHe's a greater conductor than Leonard Bernstein'Twas on a Sunday in the summer and from everywherePeople planned to take a subway to the World's FairA half a million people tried to push and jarAll of them determined to get in one carBut the IRT depended on their finest menJ. C. Cohen could pack a subway like a sardine canHe pushed the people up and back and 'round aboutHe squeezed so many in he squeezed the engineer outJ. C. Cohen, what a great conductorHow he'd moan, step to the rearJ. C. Cohen, he really had a problemOn a subway train without an engineerJ. C. tried to get into the engineer's placeBut when he look inside the cab, he saw a strange man's faceA half pint drunk with a full pint bottleHe emptied out the bottle and he yelled, full throttleThey passed Columbus Circle doing 82A couple minutes later they were under Bronx ZooJ. C. shuddered and he said, I guessThis used to be a local but it's now an ExpressJ. C. Cohen, what a great conductorKept his head when everyone was tenseHe said, When we pass the city limitsEverybody pays another fifteen centsJ. C. said, We're heading north, my friendsBut not a man alive knows where the subway endsThe train went under Albany at 90 flatAnd Governor Rockefeller hollered, What was that?A lady said to J. C. Cohen with indignationIf this is Albany then you have passed my stationSo either you should take me back to fifty ninth StreetOr ask one of these gentlemen to give me his seatJ. C. Cohen, what a great conductorJ. C. Cohen noticed something oddWhen he saw lobsters on the roadbedHe said, I got a feeling we're beneath Cape CodOh well, the train kept speeding to the north my friendsFinally came to where the tunnel endsWhen they came up to the surface from the long, long holeThey were twenty seven inches from the great North PoleJ. C. hollered, Everybody outThis is the end of the line beyond the shadow of a doubtThey went out to get some fresh air and before they took a whiffCohen and all the passengers were frozen stiffJ. C. Cohen, what a great conductorBless his soul, he ran out of luckJ. C. Cohen, he was really frozenAnd he had to be brought home in a Good Humor truckWhen they told Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her manShe said, Must you interrupt me when I'm playing Pan?Then she said to her partner, Mrs. R. J. RosenCohen was a lovely husband but he's no good frozenThen she went to her little boy and took his handAnd she said, I'm going to take you out to DisneylandSo Melvin, little darling, don't you weep or wail'Cause you got another papa on the monorailGot another papa on the monorail
Lyrics by Allan Sherman
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