His money isn't free. On the first date, He picked you up in a Phantom which haunted your inner gold-digger Digging to harvest stardom, but His money isn't free. He's wearing a Rolex You're wearing a Swatch wrist Hoping to switch wrists. It's much too sad that His money isn't free. He's harvested his cotton And you're ready to rob him But his ex keeps calling Little Miss Lee Kaching! She can sense your scheming; she screams through the speakerphone, "His money isn't free!" Now he's seen your blades, your spades, your grenades hidden in the dark of your shade. He's grabbing those keys Leaving his seat saying, "My money isn't free!" Now you're left alone With your flip phone, Not even an iPhone. And the waiter comes by, Drops the bill and says, "This meal isn't free."
To enjoy the poem read the italicised words in a squeaky, nagging voice.