King, I about failed to tell you of old Uncle Dale,
Who lived with the man who took care of the mail. In those days, there wasn’t a plane, truck, or car,
And the mail came by horse, whether near or far. If you had a new cousin, the mail was so slow,
It might be half grown, before you would know. Uncle Dale went with the postmaster to work every day,
And had his own little spot in a corner filled with
hay. You see, the post office was really quite
small,
Just little wooden boxes nailed on the back
wall. Now everyone who came to town, without
fail,
Would stop at the post office to inquire of
their mail. It wasn’t delivered to a mailbox on a
door.
You had to wait till you needed supplies from
the store. Well, you know how all goats just love
to eat,
And when people came to get mail, they’d
bring Uncle Dale a treat. After several years of
treats at the post office every day,
Uncle Dale was
too fat to fit his corner on the hay, So instead,
he got to stay outside the rail,
And personally hand
everybody their mail.
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