scavenger type - frank turner lyrics
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gigin alone at the bottom of the hill
our protagonist named bill
sets his sights on an anchor steam pint
all he needs is thirteen quarters
congregated in his hat
a crow, a scavenger type
california redemption provides him with his rent
room and board inside of a fifth of comfort
as the wind penetrates his bones
his mind keeps focused
tidal waves of sound catapulted
from his h*rn wail like lovers
the coins don’t drop consistent as does the mercury
his meter slows realizing a zenith
he’s reached perfection
no one did see him die
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