My ragged wings are black as night, my eyes are cold as sin;

the crows and rooks and magpies, and the jays, my nearest kin.

I am a rogue and vagabond, I raid the nests of Man;

I’ll steal his golden trinkets and I’ll take whate’er I can.


Some fools have tried to trap me, and yet others have their guns,

but they who think me stupid little know what’s to be done.

Some others think to bribe me for to leave their crops alone;

I swoop in with my brothers and we take their kernels home.


To superstitious folks who see me perch upon their roof,

a new born babe will follow, for that is the Devil’s truth.

Yet down your chimney should I flit, beware the Reaper’s blade!

Within the year cold death shall come to master or to maid.


So look outside your window now and see what I may do,

If on the weather vane I sit, then rain shall come to you.

But if me and my brothers all do chatter, jack and caw,

then pray we are mistaken, for we tell of coming war.