Thats Why They Call Them Roosters

I got inspirered this morning, by one of our more prolific poetic members. In his poem, he described self-mutilation, in which I personal remain unmoved, that was until He attacked the wrong thing. What I like to call My BEST Friend You know I'm out here all alone Not another soul, can be found All day long their cackling, is sadly the only sound So, if you've come here just to talk I can't hear a word you say But judging by the truck you drive You've come to take my chicks away So take each one, or by the dozen By the crate, barrel or box Do what you will, with all my hens But please, don't you touch my cock It's bad enough, being stuck out here With no one in which to talk But sure as shootin' my pipe be tootin' No one better grab my cock I see you've loaded all those chickens It'll sure be quiet, without their squawk Don't worry about me I'll be hap-pi-ly Just Sitting quiet, holding my cock