Great days are becoming
A matchlight liquor establishment
Where the factory soaks its scabs
It hangs there like insectrocutioner
Over the big river
Scum of us rinsed by a hard rain
The tar, the teeth & the gear
Yet no trail
All around the camp
And that is our game
To brag and complain
To guess who goes next
To tally the scars
Learn every weakness
Flings Of The Waistcoat Crowd Lyrics performed by Robert Pollard are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Flings Of The Waistcoat Crowd Lyrics performed by Robert Pollard is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD