Christy Moore Scallcrows
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
You're only 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
