Whene’er I feed the barnyard folk br My gentle soul is vexed; br My sensibilities are torn br And I am sore perplexed. br br The rooster so politely stands br While waiting for his food, br But when I feed him, what a change! br He then is rough and rude. br br He crowds his gentle wives aside br Or pecks them on the head; br Sometimes I think it would be best br If he were never fed. br br And so I often stand for hours br Deciding which is right— br To impolitely have enough, br Or starve and be polite.