Scavenger Type

Gigin alone at the bottom of the hill
Our protagonist named Bill
Sets his sights on an anchor steam pint
All he, needs is thirteen quarters
Congregated in his hat
A crow, a scavenger type
California redemption, provides him with his rent
Room and board inside of, a fifth, of comfort
The coins don’t drop consistent as does the mercury
His meter slows realizing a zenith
He’s reached perfection
No one did see him die
No one did see him die
No one did see him die