Seagull Blues

Yaaaarh, bugger off, this is my chip

And this one, and that one, yaaaaarh, yaaaaarh

And those bits, yaaaarh, they were mine

Yaaaaarh, yaaaaarh.

This club foot o‘mine is givin’ me the irits

What got me to grip that crackling cable?

The prospect of food from the long range?

I got cocky; was too lazy to fly with the mob

Altogether dreaming, me webbing melted, deformed

Yaaaarh, yaaaarh

I got a bad message for sure; a punch to my instinct.

Acrobatically I lift meself to pivot me ungainly fall

Desperately I grab the air with fluttering wings

Get off and fly wayward with this twisted gore

Yaaaarh, I say, yaaaaarh, my foot’s bloody sore.

And I’m down here with good legs and cripples

Like Pete and his bow-legged splinters

Young Johnny’s still wearin’ that fishing wire

Buddha spent too long in front of that long ship’s fire

And now look at me hobblin’ like an old boot scooter

All of us mob scramblin’ for some generous scupper

Yaaaarh, bugger off, that food scrap’s mine

And that one, and that one; mine all mine

Hell I’ve missed them all again

Yaaarhh, yaaaarh.

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