Got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue,
Been boiling all night darling ,just for you.
You don't have to listen, but i'd like it if you wanta,
To my sticky sappy love song full of double entendre
And you don't have to take that flight to Rhwanda,
'cause i'll give you more huggin' than a green anaconda

Got syrup in my front pan ,hot sap in my flue,
Throwin' big hardwood in my firebox, it's true
Van Morrison sang about tupelo honey,
But it's not the kind of sweet stuff that makes us any money
And Janet left his planet, dammit Janet that wasn't funny
Van had more wild nights, but his days stopped being sunny

I've got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue,
Got fire coming out my smokestack, darlin' it's true
I've been boilin' for a month, it ain't even march,
I got smoke in my eyes and my throat's gettin' parched
But if you would just come on down to the arch,
I'd take a spike in the face from Kirraly, Karch

Got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue,
I'll explain that Karch Kirraly lyric if I need to (he was a volleyball player)
'cause I can't put words together like Bob Bernstein,
And I don't have the golden voice of Richard Ruanne
My throat's always scratchy, i'm 60 years old,
I sound like Tom Waits with a real bad cold

Got syrup in my front pan , hot sap in my flue,
Been boilin' darlin' the whole night through
You are my love, you are my gal,
But i'm lost in space, open the pod door ,Hal
And i'm not trying to put the blame on you dear,
But you left your manchild in the sugarhouse with too much beer

Got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue,
You know my stack temperature's 602
Late at night, under the covers,
You don't get nothin' fancy, i'm your grade B lover
There's two dogs between us, we ain't said three words,
I'm watching Red Green reruns, you're flinging angry birds

Got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue
And i'm boiling, boiling, boiling, boiling, did I say boiling a time or 2?
You can still take that flight to Rwuanda,
I'll get you to the airport in our old rusty Honda
You'll find out Africa don't have no anacondas,
I'm not Henry, Jane or Peter, but I couldn't be more Fonda you

Got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue.
I'm still boiling, darling, boiling the whole night through
This song's coming to and end, I hope it didn't cause you tension,
'cause i'm always on the sticky end of marital dissention
To the folks in front, this is a good time to mention,
I might be needing me a ride back home to Benson
I've got syrup in my front pan, hot sap in my flue