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