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Year of the Pig (Fucked Up)

Pigs at the trough show no fear Fat full of death they will not starve this year Feed stains their skin in the mud Fed through the nose plant their feet in the blood Pigs at the trough getting fat Surfeit of the beast turned to tricks for a feast Tear into the filth like a whore Suck the meat from the bones leave the corpse on the floor Pigs at the trough disappear One final meal before kissing the spear Skins on the hook left to dry Just use the flesh pay no mind to the hide Pigs at the trough slit and squeal Done up and stuck like a pig for a meal Painted and tied and dressed up Get it on your hands as it fills your cup Pigs at the trough are to blame They are the monsters we never became they poison our crops and our name We hate that we need them to manage our shame Pigs at the trough live in grime Carrion meals fit for these profane swine No mind to the scum they live in They tremble in fear as they swallow your sin Pigs at the trough swell and burst Bearing the brunt as they launder the cursed We keep our pigs in a pen Our place to defile again and again and again and again Pigs killing pigs turned to pigs killing pigs Pigs fed to pigs turned to pigs fed to pigs The farmers asleep under the tree No ones here watching over us Ashamed of what pigs mean to men Ashamed of what we do to them Ashamed of the pig in our head Ashamed so we kill them instead Pigs at the trough are obscene Punish the products but not the machine Pregnant with guilt and disgrace Delivering scorn on the mess they create The pigs at the trough are pristine They live in our dirt and still they stay clean Recoil from the stigma and hate And suffer the pig who can't change its fate