Mark Knopfler - Yon Two Crows lyrics
[Mark Knopfler - Yon Two Crows lyrics]
Pennies from heaven, don't make me laugh
Here all you'll get's the patterin' rain
Or yon two crows up over the hill
Lookin' for winter kill
Always at your boots, the mud behind the byre
With it's clammy hold
Would mock you up a grave here in the mire
Of a wrecked sheepfold
And all you'll bring to this
Is muscle and grit
Persistence, that's just about it
What made you think there'd be
A livin' in sheep?
Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
Duck under the eaves of the bothy
To sit here, caged by rain
Somewhere to go, conjure a next move
When I have to think again
The dog lifts his gaze to plead
Believes the wizard has a magic stick
Leans his weight into my tweed
I give an unholy hand to lick
I take a swig of sheep dip from my flask
And once again I ask
What made you think there'd be
A livin' in sheep?
Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
They were at this game two hundred years ago
Thirty ways of dyin' young, poor souls
Laid to rest in their soggy rows
Rain on their holy books
Blood and whisky on the tongue
No-one watchin' over anyone
No-one left but your stubborn one
And the crows and rooks
Ah, the dyin' young well, I'm not done
You watch me and I'll watch thee
I can still work for two
Men and drink for three
I raise my flask to the clearin' skies
To you, sweepers, you carrion spies
To scavenge and survive
If you can do it, so can I
Here all you'll get's the patterin' rain
Or yon two crows up over the hill
Lookin' for winter kill
Always at your boots, the mud behind the byre
With it's clammy hold
Would mock you up a grave here in the mire
Of a wrecked sheepfold
And all you'll bring to this
Is muscle and grit
Persistence, that's just about it
What made you think there'd be
A livin' in sheep?
Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
Duck under the eaves of the bothy
To sit here, caged by rain
Somewhere to go, conjure a next move
When I have to think again
The dog lifts his gaze to plead
Believes the wizard has a magic stick
Leans his weight into my tweed
I give an unholy hand to lick
I take a swig of sheep dip from my flask
And once again I ask
What made you think there'd be
A livin' in sheep?
Eat, work, eat, work and sleep
They were at this game two hundred years ago
Thirty ways of dyin' young, poor souls
Laid to rest in their soggy rows
Rain on their holy books
Blood and whisky on the tongue
No-one watchin' over anyone
No-one left but your stubborn one
And the crows and rooks
Ah, the dyin' young well, I'm not done
You watch me and I'll watch thee
I can still work for two
Men and drink for three
I raise my flask to the clearin' skies
To you, sweepers, you carrion spies
To scavenge and survive
If you can do it, so can I