Scatsville

Ran to Penn Station and mad my train
 Immediately fell asleep until I heard
 The conductor say: "Next stop
 Where-it's-Atsville."
 Sunlight on the Hudson an amber glow
 Like "Crepuscule with Nellie" dialed
 Down low
 When I reached my stop
 The platform sign said: "Scatsville."
 I said: "Wait!" and I turned around
 But the doors where closed and the train
 Was gone
 And I though: "This ain't
 Where-I-hang-my-Hatsville."
 And the question I asked of each passerby
 Was met with the same singsong reply:
 "Jack, you are now in Scatsville."
 It's the language of madmen
 When you talk through your hat
 My Eleventh Commandment's:
 "Thou Shalt Not Scat!"
 Mr. Feather sighed and he seemed
 Depressed
 When I complained of scat on my
 Blindfold Test
 So how
 How'd I get to Scatsville?
 Live every saxophonist who play bop
 It's a little habit that hard to stop
 One day you find yourself in Scatsville
 With all the cats in Scatsville