Down at my grandma's house,
At the back of the yard,
You'll find lots of chickens,
Some with top knots scarred.

That ole king of the barnyard,
A mean rooster that prances,
Keeps order with the hens,
And makes kids do dances.

He struts and he crows,
Flaps his wings in warning,
He's master of the yard,
Claims title each morning.

The hens give him room,
When he starts to strut,
If he makes contact,
You're bound to be cut.

Spurs just like a sword,
This rooster so robust,
Agile and deadly
With a jump he'll thrust.

Spurs slash the body,
Like armament in battles,
The best of warriors,
This ole mean rooster rattles.

Superiority established,
We've been put in our place,
We bow to the despicable king,
What a shameful disgrace.

Gayle Davis©
13 March 2007
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