The feast is through Ive had my fill of filth The stale and moldy remnants Eaten with no guilt Slurped up the liquids And choked down rendered fats Disgusting drippings on My fur begin to matt I I am the Putrid God I bow to no man The hardened fur acts as armor The trash protects me Nothing can stop me Anointed burglar Gilded with the filth Mischievous and rabid Drooling on myself An iron paw Rules over the land Recycled crown of soda cans upon my head I I am the Putrid God I bow to no man