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๐๐ฎ๐๐ ๐ž๐ญ  โ€˜๐Ÿ๐Ÿ

Once a year does the gravy train stop,

For its troughs to be filled to the top.

Then the pigs climb aboard

As the last pint is poured,

And they bury their snouts in the slop.

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien