Home Is Where The Sty Is

A pig sweat-dripping

Scratching his balls a male

Since day one the lowest self-esteem, bound to fail

Not a single word

Small talk is done with a fist

Suicidal

Heirloom shotguns and opened wrists

Talks like a stroke in slow motion

Yet feeling fine, not a day over dead

Drop-dead-ugly, fucked up abortion

Shits while eats, same inside the head

This is what northen men are made of

This is how northern men are made

Hey honey, don't care what your name is

There is just one thing I crave

Take off that dress

I'm your man

Hey honey, flowers belong on graves

Drag you down in shades of shame

Nevertheless I'm your man

A true self-loather

Head stuck tight in the noose

When given bottle sings his rueful blues through the booze

And them women

Anything goes of course

A masturbator Yet a longtime fan of intercourse

Agora-xeno-homophobic

An ignorant redneck to the bone

Home is where the vacant sty is

With balls erected the seeds are sown