Pink Floyd      c 1977
                    Animals

         Pigs on the Wing (part 1)
         Dogs
         Pigs (Three Different Ones)
         Sheep
         Pigs on the Wing (part 2)

Pigs on the Wing. (Part One)

       If you didn't care what happened to me,
       And I didn't care for you,
       We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain,
       Occasionally glancing up through the rain,
       Wondering which of the buggers to blame
       And watching for pigs on the wing.

Dogs

       You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
       You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
       You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
       And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
       You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

       And after a while, you can work on points for style
       Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
       A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
       You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
       So that when they turn their backs on you
       You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
       You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
       You know it's going to get harder, and harder and harder as you get older.
       And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
       Hide your head in the sand,
       Just another sad old man,
       All alone and dying of cancer.

       And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
       And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
       And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around.
       So have a good drown, as you go down, alone,
       Dragged down by the Stone.
       I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
       Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
       Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
       If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my own way out of this maze ?

       Deaf, dumb and blind, you just keep on pretending
       That everyone's expendable and no one has a real friend.
       And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner.
       And everything's done under the sun,
       And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

       Who was born in a house full of pain.
       Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
       Who was told what to do by the man.
       Who was broken by trained personnel.
       Who was fitted with collar and chain.
       Who was given a seat in the stand.
       Who was breaking away from the pack.
       Who was only a stranger at home.
       Who was ground down in the end.
       Who was found dead on the phone
       Who was dragged down by the stone.

Pigs (Three different ones)

       Big man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
       You weel heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
       And when your hand is on your heart,
       You're nearly a good laugh,
       Almost a joker,
       With your head down in the pig bin
       Saying, "keep on digging."
       Pig stain on your fat chin.
       What do you hope to find?
       When you're down in the pig mine
       You're nearly a laugh,
       You're nearly a laugh,
       But you're really a cry.
            -----------------
       Bus stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
       You fucked up old hag, ha ha charade you are
       You radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
       You're nearly a good laugh,
       Almost worth a quick grin
       You like the feel of steel,
       You're hot stuff with a hat pin,
       And good fun with a hand gun.
       You're nearly a laugh,
       You're nearly a laugh,
       But you're really a cry.
            -----------------
       Hey you Whitehouse,
       Ha ha charade you are
       You house proud town mouse,
       Ha ha charade you are
       You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
       You're nearly a real treat,
       All tight lips and cold feet,
       And do you feel abused?
       .....! ......! ......! ......!
       You gotta stem the evil tide,
       And keep it all on the inside.
       Mary you're nearly a treat,
       Mary you're nearly a treat
       But you're really a cry.

Sheep

       Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away,
       Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
       You better watch out,
       There may be dogs about
       I've looked over Jordan, and I have seen,
       Things are not what they seem.

       What do you get for pretending the danger's not real.
       Meek and obedient you follow the leader
       Down well trodden corridors, into the valley of steel.
       What a surprise!
       A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
       Now things are really what they seem,
       No, this is not bad dream.

       THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. I SHALL NOT WANT
       HE MAKES ME DOWN TO LIE
       THROUGH PASTURES GREEN HE LEADETH ME THE SILENT WATERS BY.
       WITH BRIGHT KNIVES HE RELEASETH MY SOUL
       HE MAKETH ME TO HANG ON HOOKS IN HIGH PLACES.
       HE CONVERTETH ME TO LAMB CUTLETS.
       FOR LO, HE HATH GREAT POWER, AND GREAT HUNGER.
       WHEN COMETH THE DAY WE LOWLY ONES
       THROUGH QUIET REFLECTION, AND GREAT DEDICATION,
       MASTER THE ART OF KARATE.
       LO, WE SHALL RISE UP,
       AND THEN WE'LL MAKE THE BUGGERS' EYES WATER.

       Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
       Wave upon wave of demented avengers
       March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.

       Have you heard the news?
       The dogs are dead!
       You better stay home
       And do as you're told.
       Get out of the road if you want to grow old.

Pigs on the Wing. (Part Two)

       You know that I care what happens to you,
       And I know that you care for me,
       So I don't feel alone.
       Or the weight of the stone,
       Now that I've found somewhere safe
       To bury my bone.
       And any fool knows a dog needs a home,
       A shelter from pigs on the wing.

       (C) Roger Waters.
           Pink Floyd Music Publishers Ltd. (P) 1977

       Produced by   : Pink Floyd
       Engineered by : Brian Humphries
       Recorded at   : Britania Row Studios, London

       Sleve design  : Roger Waters
       Graphics      : Nick Mason