PIG: The press

It's a barrage of violence, sickness and shameYou struggle for your living and you're paying with painI read of the poor, and the women and the victims to blameFor the collapse of the country again and againThey're checking all the peopleIn all their holesWhips and lashes and cuts backTo double standards, backhandersIt's a grey desolate countryBut we're glorious againHe's peeling his banana while roasting your nutsYou've got to get your gums around his plumsHe's going to modify your attitudeAnd customize your crawlWith the muck he printsHe's got to us allPeoriaI met her in Peoria250 lbs. of flabby harlot woman fleshIs wobbling around the hotel room, fartingMucus is dripping from her pig-hole nostrils into her mouthNah, streamingSteaming, streaming great green rivuletHer tounge makes sure no leftover chunks go astray, miss their markMom I mean buisnessPut your finger on the buttonYeah, will doJust let me finish this pageI said (hog call)Sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky, stickyTounge's feeling dry, swollen up like a pocket full of lint inclusiveKnow what I meanKnow what I meanKnow what I meanFailing that, the falling fatCrack another six pack and get on with the job at handMany hands make light workBut makes palms brothFists flying and slipping into hole after hole after hole after heatHey, she buys cayenneby the quartFilled up to the elbow bone, fried up to the jointFiled at the shin, skin hanging off in sheets and shardsYou do this shit for a livingThose grimey, greasy pores exuding their slimy mixture of filth and pussIn little white whorled pustulesEvery time she smiles that yellow, shit-eating grinThat shit-eating grinChrist, she was beautiful