MONKEY IN THE SUBWAY (© Words and music by Paul F. Cowlan )

The inhabitants of the Monkey House in most zoos would make easier companions than this one; but as he/she has one hand firmly clamped on your cerebral steering wheel it’s sensible to keep in touch.


There’s a monkey in the subway, hear him whoop and shout.
A monkey in the subway. Someone ought to let him out.
Ain’t no use pretending that you cannot hear him call,
kicking up the papers and writing on the wall.

He doesn’t have a ticket, he doesn’t have the fare.
You can try to stop him riding but he really doesn’t care.
Though you change at every station it makes no odds at all;
whatever time you get home he’ll be waiting in the hall.

You may not want to meet him, and you drive him from your door,
but something somewhere tells you that you’ve seen his face before;
peeking through the keyhole, rapping on your window pane.
Turn the radio up loud, but you hear his voice again.

He’s singing “Monkey in your subway been underground too long,
and if that makes you nervous, well, something must be wrong.
Jumping at your shadows you will surely lose your mind.
Sometimes up ahead of you and sometimes way behind.”

There’s a monkey in your kitchen, a monkey in your bed,
a monkey in your attic and a monkey in your head.
There’s just one way to handle him,  though you’ll never make him tame.
Simply open up the door and call him by his name.

‘Cos the monkey has a secret and it’s not too hard to guess.
You only have to ask him, ’cos he’s dying to confess.
Look into your mirror when you’ve nothing else to do,
Would you believe the monkey’s face is staring back at you!

He’s your monkey. Your monkey.
All he wants to do is be your friend.