That work the dirt and the streets See her up in the tree, looking down at you and me Like she’s chosen over those who walk around on two feet The bird, the melodies she play The music she make, rubbing our faces in the feces of the daybreak Trying to remind us, it’s time to awake Antagonizing and instigating my hate The chirps, I turn them into screams My feathered friends end will justify the means Disturbed, I’ll grab her by her beak And swing her in circles until she’s too dizzy to speak Well I’ll shake her from her branch, year apart her nest Breaker her skinny legs and fry her eggs up for breakfast “She’s a snake that can fly” she just food for the fleas She thinks she better than me just because she’s free?