Backwoods Pig

The road was barely passable
Where he finally found their shack.
Writing tales about backwoodsmen
Often took him to heck and back!

They were certainly backwoodsmen,
An old junk car seat for a chair,
He asked for a cup of water
And maybe stories they would share.

They insisted he share vittles,
A soup bowl full of something green.
To eat it might mean a story
Though the cracked bowl was far from clean.

He asked about the little pig
That was snuffling at his feet.
He said, “The way it likes strangers,
I just think it is kind of neat.”

The man said, “He don’t care for you
No more’n a dried up mud hole,
He’s just wantin’ you to hurry
‘Cause you’re eatin’ outta his bowl!”

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