I once knew a farmer who danced jolly jigs,
On receiving his pay cheque for rearing no pigs.
He said that in some ways he felt quite a jerk,
Because raising no pigs means a whole lot less work.

He went to an auction of swine in the town,
And found that the prices of pigs had gone down.
There's nobody wants them the auctioneer said,
They'd rather have a £3000 cheque instead.

So the companies selling the pig food went bust,
The old metal pig pens all developed rust.
One wonders quite who here is the person at fault,
Whilst the subsidied farmer just sips on his malt.

The meat still arrives in the Supermarket,
Some of it is the best I've tasted yet.
So if meat comes from far away, I don't give a damn,
As long as I get my pork, bacon and ham.