eating from the trough again 

stuffing his mouth with glory 

biting the hands 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 cleanse his conscience 

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 palace