There's a whisper down the line at 11:39
As the night train's ready to depart,
Saying, "Simmer, let it simmer,
So that when it's time for dinner
Our passengers can eat soon as it starts."
All the chefs and all the guests
And all the waiters in their best
Would be waiting to start lunch
Saying, "Simmer, let it simmer,
We are getting quickly thinner,
And we want something to munch."

At precisely 12:02
Then their meal is overdue
And the passengers all full of hungry greed.
Then the cook would soon appear
And she'd saunter to the rear,
And to the guests the soup she would then feed.

And they gave a glance
At their tasty soup
And the passengers began to cheer.
They were all well-fed
And could go to bed
Without hunger-induced nightmares as a fear.

Simmershanks: The railway soup
The soup of the railway train

You could say without being hasty
That the soup was very tasty
And a favorite of the Sleeping Car Express.
In the opinion of the guards
And the bagmen playing cards
Simmershanks was the best soup,
More or less.

Down the corridor it's eaten
And "It's taste cannot be beaten,"
Say the travellers in the first and the third.
It established its supremecy
With it's title as a delicacy
And everyone was pleased when it was served.
The chef would watch you without winking
And she saw what you were thinking
For it's certain that the soup wouldn't settle
With hilarity and riot
So the folk were very quiet
When Simmershanks was cooking in the kettle.

You could resist no taste of Simmershanks
It's a soup that cannot be ignored.
So no one went hungry on the Northern Mail
When Simmershanks was served on board.

It was very pleasant
When they had found their little placemat
With their name written up on a card.
And the table was very neat
With a newly folded sheet
As a table cloth upon the surface hard.
There was every kind of fork:
One for salad, one for pork,
And a long one you could use to eat your pie
And a funny little plate
Where you could pile the foods you hate
And some bread: pumpernickel, garlic, rye.
Then the waiter looked in politely
And would tell you very brightly,
"The Simmershanks will be ready before long."
Then the chef stepped in behind him
And would firmly remind him,
"Soup takes time if you don't want it to go wrong."

When they crept into their cozy chairs
And submitted to the pounds they were about to gain
They ought to reflect it was very fine
To know that they were about to dine
On the best soup ever: The railway soup
The soup of the railway train

Simmershanks: The railway soup
The soup of the railway train

In the depths of any storm
It was always fresh and warm
And tasted just find with a cup of tea
Or perhaps a drop of scotch
For the men keeping on the watch;
They would eat their Simmershanks soup with glee.
They were fast asleep at Crewe
And so they never knew
The wonders of this railroad taste sensation.
They were sleeping all the while
It was boiling at Carlisle
Where the stationmaster ate it with elation.

They might eat it at Dumfries
And even invite the police
To come and eat some soup if they were about.
When they got to Gallowgate
They would claim they never ate
And would have one last bowl of soup as they got out.
And you sniff that great aroma and you give a wail
Which says, "I'll eat here again!"
You will eat without fail
On the midnight mail
The soup of the railway train.