Porkopolis

The Prodigal Son

• Here come I to my own again,
• Fed, forgiven and known again,
• Claimed by bone of my bone again
• And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
• The fatted calf is dressed for me,
• But the husks have greater zest for me,
• I think my pigs will be best for me,
• So I'm off to the Yards afresh.
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• I never was very refined, you see,
• (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see)
• But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see,
• For being a bit of a swine.
• So I'm off with wallet and staff to eat
• The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,
• But glory be! — there's a laugh to it,
• Which isn't the case when we dine.
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• My father glooms and advises me,
• My brother sulks and despises me,
• And Mother catechises me
• Till I want to go out and swear.
• And, in spite of the butler's gravity,
• I know that the servants have it I
• Am a monster of moral depravity,
• And I'm damned if I think it's fair!
•  
• I wasted my substance, I know I did,
• On riotous living, so I did,
• But there's nothing on record to show I did
• Worse than my betters have done.
• They talk of the money I spent out there —
• They hint at the pace that I went out there —
• But they all forget I was sent out there
• Alone as a rich man's son.
•  
• So I was a mark for plunder at once,
• And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,
• But I didn't give up and knock under at once,
• I worked in the Yards, for a spell,
• Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs.
• And shared their milk and maize with hogs,
• Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
• And — I have that knowledge to sell!
•  
• So back I go to my job again,
• Not so easy to rob again,
• Or quite so ready to sob again
• On any neck that's around.
• I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!
• God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you!
• I wouldn't be impolite to you,
• But, Brother, you are a hound!