Who let the pigs out?

Who let the pigs out?
You? You? Or you?
Who let the pigs out?
You? You? Or you?

And then they came in throngs, smelly and burping, and speaking some gibberish. Up and down the alley ways, up and down the staircase, up and down the hallways, up and down their minds' ways, up and down their cave nostrils, up and down their shady tails. Their thoughts and beliefs walked in front, marching in heavy and thick bison hide boots, dragging the pigs by loose knotty shoe strings and misconstrued words that they barked out like half pigs and half dogs. Their stenches were sitting on their heads, somersaulting in their uncombed hair, carrying tiny shovels and hay picks which they’d shove into the skins of the pigs every now and then to bolster any slow in the blitz. Far away, beyond the outskirts of decency, neon billboards had manicured and flashy nail polished hands, promoting, screaming like town criers, cheap hair brushes in red and blue. The pigs winked at the tempting hands exchanging crummy text messages:

We let the pigs out
We, we, we!
We let the pigs out
We, we, we!