Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem



So yo’ farm masters
got yo’ phat attractive features
listed on public notice,
at da commodity trading display — touting you as
one fine looking hoofed creature

State Fairs have long been
4-H 401k 
good capital investment forays
Sow auctions are traditional;
if you got da right beauty parts,
you gonna be quickly sold

Now you bemoan yo’ penned fate,
saying a pig’s life is sow State unFair
Slaving in da muck,
never so much as gittin’ a bacon sniff
of a hard-earned buck

But you got fed fo’ free,
fattened up Miss Piggy royally
Now you gon be
Jabba Hutt gut sold sow easily 

Did you think you were gon git let go,
pork-n-bean NDA free?
How gullible can a show oinker be
Da secret sauce dat dey use on
pretty pork chops like you,
belongs exclusively to da company

Other turkey-toe, sow oink clucks
gobble up 
the ol’ company sales pitch line:
Tellin’ the little piglets,
when dey git grown, dey won’t be on 
da choppin’ block, 
squealin’,  pinned down supine

So don’t invest yo’ short shelf life, 
pork rind grind savings
Buying dem baby back stock options,
will later have you bottle crying
‘Cause it’s all just fatback lying

Yo’ turn’s coming soon
at da auction turnstile
Sow strut yo’ peacock best
in yo’ dainty, apron dress

You and yo’ bruh’s best bet
is ta be safely picked
as prize breeders on the chitling set

Other than dat,
we all know 
life is sow State unFair
But, when you git gov’ment approved
for da new fed’ral slaughterhouse rules
Oinking ‘bout pig sty conditions,
is just splitting hairs

For when the blade swings low ... 
slice singing a ham bone tune, oh so true
You gon know fo’ sho’
da true ooman meaning 
of dat beheaded feeling —  
dis life just ain’t fair sour sow belly blues

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