Feed Us Your Girls

Lyrics: Lydia Buckley Music: Darragh Chaplin A young girl or a pretty meal The line is just so fine Little red walked out alone Joining the buffet of the night See the wolves they wait and watch and howl hoping for a bite Of fresh meat on a busy street the minute you’re out of sight Little red walked out alone Joining the buffet of the night But Little red, she knows these streets, so why should she be afraid? She walks out with her blood red cloak But Reds his favourite shade You’ll attract the wrong attention wearing colours such as those Boys will be boys, wolves will be wolves But what does Mother know! Feed us your girls The Wolves shout out Feed us the ones with curves the ones without Feed us your girls From plate to mouth Honey you’re the entree when you dress like that And mothers not around Dawn arrives and dinner scraps Are on the street from just last night People whisper ‘it’s her fault with a red so very bright ’ A silly girl A common whore Someone cover up that sight No one likes to see leftovers by the dawning light And there's a buffet every night But Little Red she knew those woods Each tree and every stone Doesn’t matter either way When there’s a wolf inside your Home You can hear the growling So You throw the dog a bone You’ll catch more bees with honey dear But what does mother know Feed us your girls The Wolves shout out Feed us the ones with curves the ones without Feed us your girls From plate to mouth Honey you’re the entree when you dress like that And mothers not around Little Red was not a meal a little girl is not a tease A cloak is not an invitation for what’s underneath Our No does not mean yes There no riddle, there’s no test Blood Red cloaks alone at night shouldn’t equal death But the wolves are very hungry Gnashing pointed teeth Don’t care what the wrappers like It’ll eat you if you breathe So maybe it doesn’t matter How we choose to wrap our skin Cos you’d prefer to blame the girl Then deal with your own sin Feed us your girls The wolves shout out Feed us the ones with curves the ones without Feed us your girls From plate to mouth Honey you’re the entree when you dress like that And Mothers not around