It's 3 o'clock on a saturday,
I was making my run.
There was an old man stood on the street-side,
By his mailbox with his young grandson

He said, "Hey can you hand me my mail to day,
I don't really know my address,
but it's long and absurd, and it has lots of words,
and all I know is it's a mess."

oh, la di de a di de a a, oh la di de da, oh la

Send us some mail, you're the postal man,
send us some today.
Well we're all in the mood for some old junk mail
and you've got us feeling this way.

now John at the office, a friend of mine,
He lets read other peoples mail.
He's quick a drink, and he teels address links,
but you can tell he wants to be somewhere else.

He said,"Blake I am sure this is killing me,
I'm sure this isn't my this thing.
Maybe I can be a fastfood cashier,
and don't get all mad when I leave

oh, la di de a di de a a, oh la di de da, oh la

Now Paul is the slacker sorter guy
who never had time for his work
And he still talks to Dale, who is currently in jail,
for some shootout thing in New York.

And the cashier is practicing medical,
and she's talking to a customer now
But it happens to be, that the customer he
says he'll be a doctor somehow

piano solo

Send us some mail, you're the postal man,
send us some today.
Well we're all in the mood for some old junk mail
and you've got us feeling this way.

It's a lot of mail for a saturday
and the manager gives me a wink
cause that this mail, is coming this well,
Cause I've been down this people's street

Well now today is a sunday
Crusin' around in my van
They run form their home, some with friends some alone,
and tell me,"Man I just don't understand"

Send us some mail, you're the postal man,
send us some today.
Well we're all in the mood for some old junk mail
and you've got us feeling this way.