Song from the Pigs' Side
by Bob Kanefsky (10/29/87)
After "Song from the Men's Side"
by Rudyard Kipling to tune

by Leslie Fish

Once we feared the beast. When he came we ran away,
And hid in our homes, though we knew
That our fenced-in homes could not keep the beast at bay;
But what could we pen-dwellers do?
The beast made short work of the guards in our yards.
Snuffed out our fires with his paw.
But now we are sheltered, one and all, by a wall,
Secure in our sturdy house of straw.
So shout it to the falcons on the crest: Be impressed!
Neighbors, stand back in awe.
This is the latest beast-proof hut. (Keep it shut!)
This is the house of straw.
Straw's light weight let us build it in a day,
And it's real easy stuff to weave.
But the beast came by, and he blew our house away,
And we thought that it might be best to leave.
So we made a hasty beeline for the wood --- those who could ---
And we stopped by a stream for a rest.
And we noticed how the beavers had played tricks with some sticks,
And thought maybe sticks work best.
So shout it to the eagles in the sky: Let him try!
Let the beast show up and take his licks.
This is the latest beast-proof hut. (Keep it shut!)
This is the house of sticks.
Sticks seem strong, and they serve the beavers well,
But they gave us their own short ends.
For we live on land, and as any fool can tell,
A dry stick will break before it bends.
So the beast came back, and he huffed, and he puffed,
And he let loose with a mighty gust of air.
When materials are stressed more than they take, they will break.
All who would build, beware.
But we, the last survivors from the pen, tried again.
Where there is a problem there's a fix.
This is the latest beast-proof hut. (Keep it shut!)
This is the house of bricks.
The beast came back, and he tried the same attack
That had worked for him in the past.
But the well-built house and attractive chimney stack,
By their strength and weight, held fast.
The beast, seeing bricks are not like straw and sticks,
Slid down the chimney in a dive.
But ah! we were ready with a pot, boiling hot.
And thus was the monster cooked alive.
Our sows and all their little ones will feast on roast beast,
And no more little pigs will be picked off.
We won't fear the crunching sound of feet as we eat,
Muzzles buried in the trough.
We can eat with our tails stuck up in the breeze, if we please.
We can sleep after meals in the mud.
For the big bad wolf we once feared as the beast is deceased.
Hogkind has spilled his blood.

| Copyright (C) 1987 by Bob Kanefsky. All rights reserved. |
| For information, contact: Off Centaur, Inc. |
| P.O. Box 424 |
| El Cerrito, CA 94530 |
| |
| You may give away up to three printed, typed, and/or electronic |
| copies of this song, provided that the above copyright notice is |
| attached and the following notice is added to it: |
| "Please do not make further copies of this song. |
| Contact the author or publisher for additional copies." |