A stranger landed in our town, he hadn't any dough.
We asked him for his moniker, he said "Call me 'The Crow'."
He was waiting for a fair size cheque but much to his dismay,

had not arrived ahead of him, so he cursed at the long delay.

So we told him "Not to worry it'll turn up never fear."

Then we took him to the local and we brightened him with a beer.
And mine host was understanding for he'd known some hard times too,
he could always pick an honest face so he said he'd see him through.


For he looked such a wealthy fellow, by the things he said and did
And a publican is always ready to try and gain a quid.

So he stood him board and lodgings stood at the usual rate
And if he wanted any liquor, well he could just put it on the slate.


And he stayed there for a fortnight, on the best the old pub could give.
He drank scotch by the bottle; this man knew how to live.
He was there for just a fortnight and the slate was getting full

And we all began to wonder and mine host was getting cool.

And then one early morning, mine host let it be known,

That his bed had not been slept in and the crafty crow had flown.
Oh he raved and he danced and he ranted, made threats so grim and dire
But he nearly had a heart attack when we handed him this wire.


"Thanks for the rest, flying west
and flying very low

Along the track not coming back
And it was signed 'The Crow'."