[Verse 1] They told me — gut that hog and a hundred is yours, Well, hell — for that money, we’re workin’ this dirt. Now we’re ankle-deep standin’ nose to nose in the grime, I’m up on my toes — nose close to his pig-eyed pride. There’s a hundred bucks hangin’ — that’s worth a good sweat, And that hog’s like a beast could scratch an elephant’s ass, you bet. And I’m just a scrawny fool with a toothpick blade, Crowd buys tickets to see our cheap charade. [CHORUS] I ran through the hog’s filth, damn it, me and my friend! Why, Tommy, my friend, didn’t you call me a “psycho”? We could’ve embraced death for a hundred bucks, And that damn hog — he’s squealing and kicking. [Verse 2] The night before passed all in smoke and whiskey’s haze, In the pen stands the hairy, fierce pig in a daze. Tommy laces his boots, frowns, says: “I dreamed of our hog last night — he asked, ‘Sssssh, killer, you scared?’ I said ‘Yes’ — both literally and in spirit.” He stared right at me in the dark with his cold, red eyes, Then grunted — and slipped back to the sty, no surprise. [BRIDGE] A gloomy dawn reeks of that primordial stench, Tommy storms toward the hog with a stranger’s pistol clenched. Ladies scream, men roar, bets placed high on the hog’s dance, Whose eyes drip death, tusks drip slobber — pure chance. [Verse 3] I grabbed his damn tail — then he kicked my jewels — BANG! I blacked out face down in the filth, hog’s squeals loud as a clang, I wake up to Tommy ridin’ the hog like a rodeo king, Holdin’ floppy pig ears, but his pants lost mid-swing! He’s buckin’ wild like a rodeo cowboy, shouts “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!” And that hogfighter lost his pistol in the dirt where it’s thick, I stood up but that cursed hog shoved my face in the muck, Right there lay my revolver, covered in filth, ear-deep in the muck! [Verse 4] I’m buried in shit up to my ears, stunned and sore, Blood’s nowhere to be seen — hog’s laid out like a star on the floor, A hundred coins are ours now, we survived this round, In the saloon, ladies and whiskey wait — I know just how I’ll spin this sound. [OUTRO CHORUS] I ran through the hog’s filth, damn it, me and my friend! Why, Tommy, my friend, didn’t you call me a “psycho”? We could’ve embraced death for a hundred bucks, And that damn hog — he’s squealing and kicking.
