the less money I make,
the more I give away...

need to get cured,
need me some cure,
to keep my money in
my Persian silk sow purse,
so when enfeebled,
can pay a nurse to
wipe my drooling chin

need me some
curmudgeon herbs
to get rid of this
happy insanity

cure this ****** mudge,
from giving away his green fudge,

so when doing his
sleepy-eyed sums,
the tallying up,
the counting down
did he qualify,
as a good ole one,
his conscience
busy unconsciously,
anudging, adjudging,
to see if the boyo can
sleep better this night.

So when he meets
the maker,
He won't say
hey faker,
but fakir,
magic maker,
dervish swayer
and

*"you my kind of poet,
let's make us some
smiling mischievous trouble,
give away whatever it takes,
love potions number nine,
winning lottery tickets
for everyone,
you and me,
scheming schematic
crazy man poet and god,
to make it happy-en."