Snicker At The Swine

eating from the trough again

stuffing his mouth with glory

biting the hand that feeds him

because he thinks he's worthy

absorbed in his deceit

the lies are subtle in which he snorts

to justify his inadequate morals

he rolls in mud to rid himself of the shame

and clense his conconscience

with his snout in the air

he knows

a hypocrite of his own breed

pale pink skin covers up greed

he consumes yet does not produce

this sty is his pity place