Roger Waters was pissed off. It was 1977, and the summer of punk was breathing down the neck of progressive rock’s elite, but Pink Floyd wasn't backing into a corner. Instead, they released Animals, a bleak, biting concept record loosely inspired by George Orwell’s Animal Farm. While "Dogs" and "Sheep" handled the social climbers and the mindless masses, the pigs (three different ones) lyrics served as a targeted, three-verse character assassination of the UK’s power players.
It's a long song. Over eleven minutes of cowbell-heavy grooves and David Gilmour’s snarling talk-box guitar solos. But the lyrics are where the real blood is. Waters didn't just write about generic greed; he picked specific fights. If you've ever wondered why he’s shouting about "charade you are" or who "Whitehouse" actually was, you're looking at a time capsule of British political rage.
The First Pig: The "Big Man, Pig Man"
The opening verse hits like a brick. "Big man, pig man / Ha, ha, charade you are."
Waters is describing the "well-heeled big wheel." This isn't a specific person as much as it is a specific type. We’re talking about the corporate titans and industrial giants of the late 70s. These were the men who stayed behind mahogany desks while the British economy buckled under the "Winter of Discontent."
Think about the imagery here. He calls the subject a "fucking rat." It’s crude. It’s uncharacteristic of the "space rock" Pink Floyd people expected after Dark Side of the Moon. The "charade" he mentions is the performance of power. He’s calling out the phoniness of the businessman who pretends to provide value while actually just digging his snout into the trough.
Honestly, the first verse is the most general of the three. It sets the stage. It establishes the pig as the apex predator of the capitalist food chain. You've got the "house proud" pig who thinks he's untouchable. But Waters is lurking in the shadows, watching the "radiant flies" hover around the pig's head. It’s disgusting. It’s meant to be.
The Second Pig: The "Bus-Stop Rat Bag"
Now things get weird. The second verse moves from the boardroom to the street.
"You're nearly a laugh / You're nearly a laugh, but you're really a cry."
Waters targets the "bus-stop rat bag." This is the bitter, middle-aged striver who is desperate for status but remains stuck in the muck. There’s a specific line about "hot ash and bird brain" and "picking up the last tin."
Some fans and critics, like the legendary Nicholas Schaffner in his book Saucerful of Secrets, suggest this verse represents the "Dogs" who have finally "made it" to pig status but have no soul left. They are pathetic. They are "fostering the deceit."
The tone here is almost pitying, which makes it even more insulting. Being called a "laugh" is the ultimate dismissal in British English. It’s telling someone they aren’t even a threat; they’re just a joke. But then Waters flips it—they aren't funny, they're "really a cry." They are a tragedy of wasted human potential.
Mary Whitehouse: The Third Pig Gets a Name
The third verse is where the pigs (three different ones) lyrics stop being metaphorical and start naming names. Well, one name specifically.
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"Hey you, Whitehouse / Ha, ha, charade you are."
If you aren't a student of 1970s British culture, the name Mary Whitehouse might not mean much. But to Roger Waters, she was the personification of everything wrong with the moral establishment. Whitehouse was a conservative Christian activist who led the "National Viewers' and Listeners' Association."
She was a crusader against "pervading filth" on the BBC. She hated Doctor Who for being too violent. She hated Alice Cooper. She basically spent her entire life trying to censor the very art that Pink Floyd was creating.
Waters goes for the jugular:
- "You're trying to keep our feelings off the street."
- "You're nearly a treat / Mary, you're nearly a treat."
That "Mary" line wasn't subtle. In the 1970s, many American listeners actually thought he was talking about the White House—as in the U.S. President’s residence. They thought it was a dig at Gerald Ford or Jimmy Carter. It wasn't. Waters was looking much closer to home. He saw her as a "house proud town mouse" who was trying to dictate the morality of a country that didn't want her interference.
It’s worth noting that Waters has never backed down from this. In his solo tours for decades, he has updated the visuals for "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" to include modern political figures, but the "Whitehouse" lyric remains a permanent scar on the track.
The Musicality of the Rage
You can't talk about the lyrics without the sound. David Gilmour’s guitar work on this track is legendary. He used a Heil talk box—the same effect Peter Frampton made famous—but instead of making it sound "pretty," Gilmour made it sound like a literal pig.
The guttural, grunting noises of the guitar mirror the "ha, ha, charade you are" refrain. It’s a perfect marriage of lyric and tone. When Waters screams the final lines, the bass line (actually played by Gilmour on the recording, not Waters) drives the song into a frantic, chaotic finish.
The structure of the song is repetitive for a reason. Each verse builds on the previous one's disgust. By the time we get to the third pig, the music is practically vibrating with contempt.
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Why the Message Still Sticks
Why do people still look up the pigs (three different ones) lyrics in 2026?
Because the archetypes haven't changed.
We still have the "Big Man" corporate leaders who seem disconnected from reality. We still have the "Rat Bags" who trade their integrity for a bit of perceived power. And we definitely still have the "Whitehouses" of the world—the moral arbiters who want to tell everyone else how to live, what to watch, and what to think.
Waters was writing about the UK in the 70s, but he accidentally wrote a manual for recognizing authoritarianism in any era. The "charade" is the mask of respectability that power wears. The song is about ripping that mask off.
Common Misconceptions About the Lyrics
A lot of people think Animals is a direct retelling of Orwell's book. It isn't.
In Orwell's Animal Farm, the pigs are the revolutionaries who become the oppressors. In Pink Floyd's world, the pigs are already at the top. They aren't former revolutionaries; they are the established elite.
Another big mistake is the "Whitehouse" thing. Even today, you’ll see forum posts debating if it’s about Nixon. It’s not. Waters has confirmed in multiple interviews, including with Rolling Stone, that it was 100% a shot at Mary Whitehouse. He found her "moral crusade" to be a form of psychological violence against the public.
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The Actionable Insight: How to Listen to "Pigs" Today
If you really want to appreciate the depth of these lyrics, don't just stream it on your phone while doing chores.
- Get the Context: Read a quick bio of Mary Whitehouse. It makes the third verse feel much more venomous.
- Focus on the Talk Box: Listen to the second solo. Gilmour is "singing" through his guitar. He’s mimicking the cadence of Waters' vocals.
- Check the 2018 Remix: The "2018 Remix" (released in 2022) cleaned up the muddy mid-range of the original 1977 pressing. You can hear the venom in Waters' voice much more clearly.
- Look at the Live Visuals: If you find concert footage from the Us + Them tour, you’ll see how Waters adapted the "three pigs" concept to the modern political landscape. It proves the song’s elasticity.
The lyrics to "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" aren't just a poem. They’re a warning. They tell us to look past the suit, look past the moralizing, and look at the "radiant flies" circling the trough.
To dive deeper into the Animals era, track down the 2022 Dolby Atmos mix of the album. It separates the vocal tracks in a way that reveals the double-tracking Waters used to make his voice sound more menacing. You can also compare the lyrics of "Pigs" to "Pigs on the Wing," the two-part acoustic track that sandwiches the album. The "Pigs on the Wing" are the ones we love; the "Three Different Ones" are the ones we should fear.