Just as the old captain returns to the docks
So must Virgil
Make his way to the chopping block
His fingers are bones
And he's puffed with gout
He's stewing souse with what they left out
He takes the parts nobody wants
And simmers them down with love
But the deed is not appreciated
When the odor wafts to the floors above
He's a good guy
He doesn't understand why hooves, snouts, and tails
Fire up no demand
But he's back to the slaughter
Yeah
Life in the bigs
Cursed be the higher-ups
Who would part him from his pigs
All hail Virgil and his return
He's a craftsman
You see a mold that they burned
Hunh!