(Verse 1)
South of the Sahara, lives a dapper hog so fine,
Sporting sideburns and a tail tuft, a style that's all his design,
With a mane upon his neck, and stripes upon his spine,
This fashionable wanderer, with tusks that shine.

(Chorus)
Warthog, warthog, with peculiar ways,
Especially when it comes to their movement's craze,
Like entering their burrows in reverse they'll roam,
You'll find them bending to their wrists when they dine at home.

(Bridge)
In groups of up to forty, sows roam the land,
While solitary males, on their own, take a stand,
Feeding mostly by day, in the sun's warm glow,
But at night, in their burrows, is where they go.
Though male warthogs are rarely seen so social,
Preferring solitude, they're hardly emotional,
With their own agendas, they go about their way,
And can turn quite fierce when it comes to their domain.

(Verse 2)
As they amble along, their tails hang low,
But when they start to sprint, they're ready to go,
Their tails stand erect, like antennas in the air,
In a fight, their ""warts"" cushion blows with care.

(Chorus)
Warthog, warthog, with peculiar ways,
Especially when it comes to their movement's craze,
Like entering their burrows in reverse they'll roam,
You'll find them bending to their wrists when they dine at home.