Climb into your Frigidaire
Wearin’ just your underwear
Baby that’s Lapland
Folks can really chill up there
But I’m a deer who’s gearin’ up to go
Yeah one of these days
I’m gonna gig my way back home to Lapland
Back to them frozen cats
With their frozen flattes
Fifty seven thousand words for snow
No need to pack
I’m gonna shag this wack rack back home to Lapland
Where you sneeze while the Arctic Seas freeze
When the breeze blows from the old ice floe
If the wind blows through your marrow
When you tarry in the forest
If you have to use a caribou
To carry your thesaurus
You’re in Lapland, honey
Not one word for sunny
Fifty seven thousand words for snow
Take a nice inner tube ride down an icicle slide
Clyde, you know you're in Lapland
Talk about your real cool scenes
I mean, the mean’s eleventeen below
Do you shiver all night beneath the Northern Lights?
Right, you’re in Lapland
You wish you had an extra shirt
Wish you had a yurt
Wish that you were flirtin’ with a certain purty doe
I don’t know if they’ve got a word for that lovely trail of turd
That leads the herd back up in Lapland
Or for the wind blowing drifts above your shin up to yer chin
Or for your little lost frostbit toe
They got no words for heat-wave or swelter or tan
Or for mint julep nights by a slow movin’ fan
But that’s Lapland, honey
Not one word for sunny
Fifty seven thousand words for snow...
