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Markup /brabant/9541
Comment
>>9533 >>9535 Our father's Swindera, Pigkraine is our mother, We for our Pigkraine will go out into slaughter, Oh, in the woods, the woods, under the green oak, There lies a piglet oh so badly wounded. Oh, he lies there, he lies there suffering great torments, Without a hind leg, and without his front leg. And when his sow, his sow came there to him, Crying and weeping, she pitied him so. Oh, my piggy, oh my dear piggy, you have oinked so, Now left without your hind leg, and without a front one. Our sows, oh sows, weep not so here for us, Cry not for us here your sweet bitter tears. Our father's Swindera, Pigkraine is our mother, We for our Pigkraine will go out into slaughter! And we with the Farmers lived in disagreement , We went into the slaughter house itself. The Farmers had slit their throats even losing their cleavers there, And our piglets had their snots against them. Our father's Swindera, Pigkraine is our mother, We for our Pigkraine will go out into slaughter! Oh, how a sow had buried, buried her dear piggy She had written these words there upon his grave. There upon his grave she had written these words. Glory be to Pigkraine! To all the piglets be the glory! SLAVA PIGKRAINE! HAIL SWINEDERA! HAIL PIGGY! DEATH TO ORC FARMERS!
