Well eat roasts, grill large hips;
A squealing pig is dining fare.
And the southern, curled, crisp, fried skins of pork,
Hamhocks and snout--bristles for hair.

The Midwest farmers slaughter squealing hogs--like Beatty's plight.
And carnivores have an ad slogan for this;
They call it "the other meat, white."

I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl,
I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl,
I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl.

They jest, toast while they sup swine,
And what they don't get is tanned,
Made into French bikinis and balls for the gridiron,
Gloves for your palm--grease your whole hand.

They binge in ground, grated pig worlds--
Those teeny swine tails once curled.
Yeah and they couldn't wait for baked spuds and ham steaks,
Fatback and cutlets in skillets swirled.

I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl,
I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl,
I wish they all would eat rancid pork and hurl.

I wish they call would eat rancid pork and
(Hurl, hurl, hurl; they pig out)
I wish they call would eat rancid pork and
(Hurl, hurl, hurl; they pig out)
I wish they call would eat rancid pork and
(Hurl, hurl, hurl; they pig out)
I wish they call would eat rancid pork and
(Hurl, hurl, hurl; they pig out)