There was a little pig that lived in a sty
Each, and all day long, that little pig did cry
Two small wet tears roll down his podgy fat face
One tear ran much faster, as if in a race.

That poor little pig cried from morning till night
And the animals laughed at this puzzling sight
Now old farmer Wishbone was really concerned
UNTIL one day the farmer, reason he learned.

His wife, who suffered from big bunions,
And could not stand the smell, of raw onions
So into the bin, she threw them all at will,
Then all that refuse was used as pigswill.

The little pig’s snout, pushed them to one side
But from morning to night, he just cried and cried,
NOT that he minded a few raw onions,
BUT detests the smell of cast off bunions,