Kevin Coyne Poor Swine
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 [or Smart wife pours the 'Earl Gray' says] "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