With their grunting and their oinking,

They parade around the pen.

For all their affectations,

They’re the angriest of men.

Their litany of grievances

Spawns shrill dishonest whine;

We’re living in the conman’s age,

This is the time of swine.

 

They soil your information

To camouflage their faults;

All traces of wrongdoing

Are locked deep down in vaults.

They bare their piqued, offended snouts

And punishments refine;

We’re living in the bully’s age,

This is the time of swine.

 

Their heads are in the trough all day,

As they sup up the swill;

The lengths that they will go to

Should make our marrow chill.

Incarceration waits or worse,

If you oppose their line;

We’re living in the tyrant’s age,

This is the time of swine.