Pigs know the filth
Pigs know the mud
They regularly present
piles of fresh, steaming chud
They think we weren’t looking,
couldn’t smell what they were cooking
But their specialty, the shit soufflee,
collapsed mightily and now runs away
The quarry that they intended to skewer
runs free now, as their dream
flows down the sewer
A shame that this all took so long,
But at least it all lands where it truly belongs