By: Bears Butt

Prelude to the read:  I like a good old pickled pigs foot on occation.  Especially when on a muzz hunt.  So, I got to figurin I aint never read no poem about pickled pigs feet.  So in honor of them, here is what I dun put tagither for you to enjoy.  Read on.



For it has been said that God gave us cloven hoof animals to eat

And none so finer than that of the pig, that has meat so sweet

And if we look closer, we find it all but the squeal to goes

For what one finds good, another finds gooder, while others may turn up a nose


A hog lives in a trite situation.  A stinky pen in which it survives from day to day

It eats what is given and seems to love to wallow in the play

With feces to it’s knees and a stench that rivals all smells

Even the buzzards circle high above the dell


But when it comes to the table, the pig meat is sweet

And everyone enjoys to feast on the meat

Be it ham or chops or tripe or tongue

There is a pig part for everyone


Even the skin round the sausage comes from a pig deep within

It’s cleaned and prepared with care, then stuffed with meat chagrin

These tasty morsels of pork parts and fat, all ground up and mixed

Forced into the round skin tube for to fix

Then tied off and cut, and made ready to cook

With hashbrowns and eggs, it’s hard not to look


Let’s now dissect a pig in our mind

Once killed and cleaned and washed, it’s just fine

We skin it and cut it in parts we define

From the back to the front, including the spine


In the rear there is ham, yum yummy smoked ham

Some like it sliced, some like it boiled with beans or eaten with jam

Then come the chops, thick juicy pork chops

Fry them, or bake them, your choice, it’s your shop


The ribs are the next, they can be boiled or baked

Cooked on the grill in singles or racked

The sauce put upon them makes my mouth water

And the taste of those ribs, m-m-m-m, oh mother


Shoulder roasts, for bar-be-qued pork

A sandwich of, makes me grin like a dork

I love the great taste and it’s messy and able

Salad and chips and cold beer make the table






But the BEST of the pig is not high on the carcass

Nor in the rear or the back or inside the cadaver

But lower, much lower, below the knees

There are four of these


It’s the feet of these swine,

That taste so devine

When fixed up just proper,

There isn’t much that can stop her


The pigs feet when they’re boiled, opens up a tang

And when sealed up with vinegar it brings out the bang

Once cooled the gel sets and permeates the core

Making pickled pigs feet lovers just plain roar


They go good by themselves, better when shared

Or while riding the trail with those who have dared

A good old PIGS FOOT, straight out of the jar

With gelatin drippin and the sweet smell of sour


It just don’t get no better, I’m telling the truth

Than a pig foot knuckle tucked under a tooth

Or the vapor of vinegar wafting your nose

That gets me going like good old PIG TOES


Bears Butt

(All rights reserved, 2006)

Written on May 24th, 2011 , Poems (or sumthin)

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Just some of my old stories, new stories, and in general what is going on in my life.