THE
MONEY BITCH
By Carol
Ann Bond
The Money Bitch, all decked out in scorn,
Came with her emerald stockings, this morn,
To put frost on my child's head,
Mold on my bread,
A corpse in my bed.
The Money Bitch, all plump and tart,
With her pointed shoes danced on my heart.
The Money Bitch loves to laugh
At all my tears glowing under glass.
The Money Bitch, a wry, wicked lass,
Likes to crush the times of plenty,
Impoverish the many,
And leave us just a penny. A penny buys not a slice
of bread,
Nor a needle in which to thread,
The tatters of this rhythmic life,
A cauldron full of strife.
Soft, evil lips love to smile,
At pale, human flesh, all the while,
Taking it all away. Taking it all away.
Through the dark night, and the bright, yellow day.
The Money Bitch will spread 'em
But it's the apex of Bedlam.
Where the poor people dwell,
Scarcely in heaven, always in hell.
Scarcely in heaven, always in hell.
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