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!