Troughs
We always swear by porkers,
Our noses in the swill;
We're members of your caucus,
So you must foot the bill.
We're swine and carry fevers,
We're swine and full of 'flu,
Officially Receivers
Of bungs from all of you.
We're wingless, porcine rotters;
We're far too stuffed to speak;
We totter up on trotters
To greet the trough with pique –
Without your feed, shall we be
Mistreated? That's the deal?
Where is the farmer's freebie?
How may we grunt and squeal?
Boars and sows and piglets,
Must we left to roam?
Where are our fizz, our Twiglets,
And where's our second home?
A pig is never slim. It
Must swell up, be obese:
You say our sty's the limit.
But we have tongues to grease.
Electorate, awaken!
Remove these foolish doubts!
We can't bring home your bacon
If you won't stuff our snouts.
