Men like to fight 

For scraps off the table,

The choice of the meat

Goes to the man who is able.


They won't bite the hand

Whilst on all fours,

They serve their master 

No servant of yours.


They build their own nests

And spin their own webs,

And look down their noses

Whilst calling us 'plebs'.


I may pay my taxes

But no yoke of my own,

They lose sight of whats right

Whilst chasing their bone.


Freedom is my choice

Can't be told to jump,

But little doggies try

And come down with a flump.


  • FredPeyer

    Well said, Gavin!

    • Gavin

      Thank you very much

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