Scavenger Type

[Verse 1]

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

[Verse 2]

A crow, a scavenger type

California redemption

Provides him with his rent

Room and board inside of

A fifth of comfort

[Verse 3]

As the wind penetrates his bones

His mind keeps focused

Tidal waves of sound

Catapulted from his horn 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