Scallcrows - Christy Moore

Sunday morning you’ve a page to fill

You gather grist to grind your mill

Seek a pot to dip your quill

Sacrifice all candour

Your pointed beaks as sharp as knives

As you tear strips off peoples lives

Buzzing like bluebottle flies

Among the dead and wounded

Scallcrows

You’re only Scallcrows

Scallcrows

Vultures, Dirtbirds and Scallcrows

Attracted by the lure of stars

You lurk around expensive bars

Seeking rumours swapping jars

Down among the posers

Sunday morning I can hear the sound

It’s the Scallcrows flocking around

Seeking prey that must be found

To satisfy the hunger