Postmaster in the Stone Age

### **Verse 1** In a dusty little valley where the cavemen used to roam, There worked a mighty postmaster in a tiny carved‑stone home. No paper, no parchment, no envelopes to fold - Just postcards made of granite, heavy, chilly, cold. ### **Refrain** **Mr. Postmaster - good work! Chiseling the mail with a smile and a smirk. Mr. Postmaster - good work! Stamping every stone like a prehistoric clerk.** ### **Verse 2** Each stamp was carved from limestone, each postmark made by hand, He’d tap the date and office number - finest work in all the land. With a tiny little chisel and a hammer made of bone, He’d carve the perfect letters on each stubborn slab of stone. ### **Refrain** **Mr. Postmaster - good work! Chiseling the mail with a smile and a smirk. Mr. Postmaster - good work! Stamping every stone like a prehistoric clerk.** ### **Bridge (funny extinction‑coordination part)** And when the Stone Age ended - all at once, without delay - They must have sent reminders carved in rock along the way: “Hello everyone, just a note - don’t forget to go extinct!” A message sent in granite, perfectly aligned and inked. ### **Refrain** **Mr. Postmaster - good work! Chiseling the mail with a smile and a smirk. Mr. Postmaster - good work! Stamping every stone like a prehistoric clerk.** ### **Outro** So hats off to the hero who kept the mail alive - The master of the chisel, keeping caveman dreams in drive. A legend of logistics from a prehistoric day - The postmaster who carved the world before it slipped away.