My husband bought Fred for my birthday;
a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig.
He assured me the pigman had told him,
That it wouldn’t grow up to be big.
Well, either the pigman was lying
Or I fed it on something too rich,
For it grew to the size of a bison,
And walking a bison’s a bitch!
The difficult thing was I loved him,
wrinkly skin, pot belly and all,
So I could hardly ask if he’d kept the receipt
That promised the pig would stay small.
It started to come in between us,
Kept pushing him out of our bed
So finally my husband implored me
To choose; so of course, I chose Fred.