Money
I'D hate to think so much of gold
That I would sell myself to gain it,
I'd hate the sound of metal cold
If I must shamefully attain it.
I'd hate to be so much a slave
To minted silver, gold and copper,
That I'd forget in moments grave
To do the decent thing and proper.
I'd like to live a life of ease,
And tread a pathway always sunny,
But I'd not worship on my knees
The golden idol known as Money.
Man of wealth I'd like to be,
But I would rather dig in ditches
Than ever have it said of me,
I'd sold my self-respect for riches.