Your slow, rolling waddle
Makes my heart bubble
And curse the small loincloth you wear.

Your blue piggy eyes
Are cleverly disguised
By heinous fold of skin.

With your roar comes a scent
Of carrots deep in ferment
And has me squealing "club me!"

Oh cave troll, baby
I'd be your chin-tugging lady
If an axe wasn't lodged in your head.

Yorg!