My Money

My money barks at your money, man,

my money barks as loud as it likes.

When I buy a home I buy a big home

and my money says if I don’t want to pay

your price in pounds or dollars or shit,

then by all that’s holy in all the banks,

I go elsewhere and I buy bigger.

My money gets its dander up

even thinking of money like yours,

particles of pathetic pecuniary piss

blown back on your pants 

by winds like mine. Hurricanes!

Do you hear me? Mine.

A potency beyond Viagra, Niagara.

I mean all that’s for sale,

and all that’s not. I buy that too,

as much as I please.

Now what was your price again?