The Pig

The Pig                            November 8, 2004

Bogged down, brain drained, 

Not saying another word this day. 

I have nothing to answer or to give, 

And I can't be thinking straight. 

Environmentalist pigs hug trees, 

But what's a little land for oil in the heartland 

If not a wasted proposition? 

Wasted dreamer pigs want to rid the world of gas-powered cars, 

Wanting to use technology not yet created, 

And for what, you ask? Well, it's just their agenda, 

An agenda to get you to pay more at the pump to fund the pigs. 

FeminiNazi pigs peruse the streets 

With their coat hangers held high, 

Hollering for an encore from that Bobbitt broad. 

A brilliant-yet shiftless black man sits in the ghetto, 

Complaining that the pig owes him more, 

Not thinking of we, the purse, 

Yet, the pig will simply take from us and give it all to him for a vote. 

But then leftists never think of the common man. 

They'll listen to rock stars high on cocaine. 

They'll march out actors and actresses 

Who are on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, 

And they'll shame the brainless masses into a trance. 

And to them, those fellers are immaculate in France. 

As for me, you might ask, if you care, 

I tend to wear very dark sunglasses 

Because I see each day as a sign of better things to come. 

I believe in the spirit of the individual, 

The power, the mighty power of one, 

To overcome the need for the pig, 

And I see the day of a brand new horizon. 

The pig is not the answer, my friend, 

Because the sun, to me, grows brighter with everyday, 

The power of the human spirit makes this world spin around. 

I don't want to live in the shadow of the pig, 

And I don't want some bum to live off my wages. 

All I want is to work hard and keep what I earn. 

This is America, my friend, whether you like it or not, 

And if you don't, well, there's France for you. 

I'll be more than happy to simply bid you adieu. 

Otherwise, well, I'll just say, "God bless the U.S.A."