When I was just a baby, my mother sang this song. It wasn't very pretty, but it wasn't very long. She said that little Christians should learn this song by heart. And then when they grow older, its truth will not depart. Pigs don't live in houses, and pigs don't make their beds. Pigs don't wash their faces; they love the dirt instead. But if you're not a piglet, make the difference clearly seen - pick up that messy bedroom, and show you're Christian clean. -- I got up late one morning and hurried out the door. My toys were scattered ev'rywhere; my clothes were on the floor. When I got home that evening, the door was bolted tight. My mom looked out the window and sang with all her might: Pigs don't live in houses, and pigs don't make their beds. Pigs don't wash their faces; they love the dirt instead. But if you're not a piglet, make the difference clearly seen - pick up that messy bedroom, and show you're Christian clean. --- The preacher came to dinner; I climbed up on his knee. I hadn't used a bar of soap since nineteen ninety- three. I hadn't used my toothbrush in three weeks and a year. The preacher pulled me closer and whispered in my ear: Pigs don't live in houses, and pigs don't make their beds. Pigs don't wash their faces; they love the dirt instead. But if you're not a piglet, make the difference clearly seen - pick up that messy bedroom, and show you're Christian clean. Just use that soap and water, and show you're Christian clean. Then ev'ryone around you will know you're Christian clean. Oink! Oink!
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