Do you live here?
Do you pay the bills?
Do you make the food, wring the rags,
Wash the plates, clean the mess?
Do you do the things to keep this apartment running,
To keep the liquor flowing and the parties going?

No,
You're just some girl who lives upstairs,
Some chick that comes down every weekend
To drink and drink and drink
From the trough of beer we lay before you,
And everyone else,

And as much as you would like to think
You hold some power here,
You don't;
You mean less to me
Than the beer stains in the rug
From when you threw your drink at me but missed,
Squawking about how much you hated me.

This is not some hen house
Where you can rough up the chickens
And still expect to get the eggs;
We rule over this roost,
And we cocks demand --
I demand respect,
Here, if no where else.

I don't care how you feel in your own place --
Your own chicken coup --
But you will not strut in my home,
And ruffle your feathers at me.

You're just some chick
Pecking at the hand ...

I wish I could tell her all this,
But without the support of my fellow cocks --
Two not caring,
And one her best friend --
Then what's the use in all this crowing?