I Wanna Be Rich

I dream of finding treasure in a cave,
an iron box filled to overflowing with golden coin,
gem laden necklaces, and glittering chalice
one day.
If one can reap when he does the sowing,
I never want to make a downward switch,
I wanna be rich!

I want a room filled with gold I can wallow in like a hog,
diving into,
tossing handfuls up allowing them to drop,
like its such a sin to do.
I am telling all of you I have a great big itch,
hell man, I wanna be rich!

I despise being average.
I hate being poor!
I deserve splendid leverage,
since those are the ones
all the good people really adore!

I don’t want any duty to society,
or the environment,
don’t need no belaboring community call.
All I want is a gold-laden notoriety,
where I swing a rock hard 24
and stand damn near twelve feet tall!

I wanna be rich!,
filthy,
raggedy,
slobber mouthed,
walking around with a squeaking,
golden threaded stitch.
Damn,
all you dirty rotten dogs,
I wanna be rich!

I wanna be able to freely attend every hedonistic call.
When I walk down main street,
all the women see me
and before my elegant strut
they fall.

Every man crawls up to me who I chance to meet,
swearing I am the greatest thing him
or anyone ever saw!
Those who don’t have it
ain’t got no secular hitch.
Hell man, I wanna be rich!

When time arrives where I finally die,
for many miles around they’ll all come.
Every lady present will hang her head and cry,
speaking of all the good I’ve done.
Oh Lord,
the elaborate pictures they’ll surely paint!

Preachers shall stand before a vast murmuring crowd,
declaring me a true born saint,
regardless of the grandeur glittering in my debauched fun.
Out of everything underneath the noonday sun,
if the spirits can hear me when my declaration is spoken
and I could make only a single wish;
hell man,
I wanna be rich!