Switch

He listens to her shrill protests
A timidity that he detests
Whatever that she has to say
Daft musings that she will not stay

She is his whore, not concubine
There to fuck and toe the line
On her knees to suck his cock
No whining or her senseless talk

But she grows tired of his demands
Those brutal ways and calloused hands
No more playing the sweet wife
Now that she's found her switchblade knife.