Money To Burn

Ah crap! Here we go again . . . I just can’t seem to avoid that guy. There I was minding my own business eating a Cherry Pie thinking that Heaven isn’t too far away. Then suddenly in bursts Mr. I’m-So-Rich – Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinky Rich. So rich that it makes me angry . . . So angry that I Saw Red.

There’s a Warrant out for his arrest, but that doesn’t stop him from coming in here and using my uncle Abe for kindling or my Uncle Tom and his cabin . . . God Rest their souls. You don’t even wanna know what they did with my father Alex or his brother Andy . . . and Grandpa Benji and Lyssie . . .  I can’t bear it. He used to tell me, “You’re the Only Hell Momma Ever Raised.”  She loves me, but sometimes I think she’s just got Blind Faith in me because I’m the only son left.

Right as he busted in to take the last of ’em I tried to save ’em . . . I got my Machine Gun and I screamed, “Downboys!” But thinking I could save them was just Big Talk . . . it didn’t work and now they’re in Heaven . . . their dying words were “In God We Trust.” Now the only family momma has left is me – her little Georgie – and 32 Pennies in a Jar of Ragu. She tries to put on a happy face but it’s a Thin Disguise.  Sometimes She Cries. I know because there’s a Hole In My Wall. Well I’m tired of that Snake thinking he can just come in here and take us.

Well bring it on Mr. Rainmaker. Go ahead . . . Let it Rain. That was the Last Straw. Now, with My Innocence Gone, I’m ready to fight because the Show Must Go On. No more Tears in The City or In The Sticks. I’ve Found Forever, and I have a reason fight now. Andy Warhol Was Right. I’m Ridin’ High . . . out of the Quicksand, and you’ll be waking up in a Cold Sweat when you find out what I’m gonna do to you. I’ll turn you Inside Out right before you fall into the Bonfire that was meant for me. Then there will be Sunshine. And by the way . . . that’s a really Bad Tattoo.

Who do you think you are? Father Christmas? You’re Only a Man, and you no longer have The Power. This ain’t no Song and Dance Man. Your last swig of Southern Comfort was your last swig. Swallow that Bitter Pill. This Game of War is over. Life’s a Song, and you’ve got no more Money To Burn and it Sure Feels Good to Me.