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