Poor Swine - Kevin Coyne

See the red-neck climb the cobbled streets casting roses around

Little old ladies hang from windows tears rolling right to the ground

Seven men down in a hole everyone of them is dead

And it would have been better if he’d stayed home in his big fat bed

I feel sorry for that man, I know he’s doing the best he can

He might sit at home and sip his dinner wine but God help the poor swine

God help the poor swine

Smart wife, posing and gracious «How's it going today?»

Chinless wonder son fusses in the hall, don’t even hear his call

Goes to his room and lies on the bed feeling sick and low

Flash car in the drive, but, man alive!

There’s nowhere he can go

I feel sorry for that man, I know he’s doing the best he can

He might sit at home and sip his dinner wine but God help the poor swine

God help the poor swine

He needs help, can’t help himself

We feel smart cause we got roots wearing our big pit boots

We feel so grand, we think we understand

With our red, gnarled hands

But we don’t see that an M. B. E.* can lead to grief and pain

Oh I love that man, I think I understand although he don’t know my name

I feel sorry for that man

I know he’s doing the best he can

He might sit at home and sip his dinner wine

But God help the poor swine