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