Begging For The Door

I can't take it much more.
I wish I could leave on wings I'd soar.
Another cup of beer you pour.
You call me a whore,
You're words chill me to the core.
This means war.
Charge at me like a wild boar.
With a fearsome roar.
Beat me till I'm sore.
Cuts and bruises galore
You pretend to ignore.
Don't know what I scream for.
You say I'm making you poor,
Forced me to rob a store,
Keep a gun in a locked drawer.
I try to avoid gore.
This has become a normal chore.
Finally you give me to the count of four,
To pack and walk out the door.