Lyrics:
Sunday morning you've a page to fillYou gather grist to grind your millSeek a pot to dip your quillSacrifice all candourYour pointed beaks as sharp as knivesAs you tear strips off peoples livesBuzzing like bluebottle fliesAmong the dead and woundedScallcrowsYou're only ScallcrowsScallcrowsVultures, Dirtbirds and ScallcrowsAttracted by the lure of starsYou lurk around expensive barsSeeking rumours swapping jarsDown among the posersSunday morning I can hear the soundIt's the Scallcrows flocking aroundSeeking prey that must be foundTo satisfy the hunger