I’m enamored of Mammon; money-mad; glad when of gelt is full
my mammoth bag, sack crammed with swag. . .on a cash jag! of pelf it’s full.
I swing that thing ringing with bling that’s real and not chimerical.
If I should lose it in a blues fit I would be, hysterical.

To count it all, no doubt I’ll call for my pal mathematical;
He feels the weight, prates, “This is great!” and states, “Your Mammon cache is full!”
He’ll kiss, down there, my derrière; that’s fair because I bought his views;
This sycophant will hie to chant: “Oh wow! How can I not enthuse?!”

Like some f**ked folk who’re always broke I’m not and got a lot to lose.

I love big bills piled up in hills; I have got what folks call dough lust;
I vow, and how, right here and now that I sure never shall go bust.
In short, in matters mathematical, my bag of pelf is full;
I’m enamored of Mammon; money-mad; glad when of gelt it’s full.

In short, I’m Mammon’s bag man, money-mad, glad when of gelt is full
My bulging sack—better than crack when out the stash of pelf is pulled.

I am no fool; when I have jewels, as you’ll guess: I won’t share the rocks;
I pay no tax and am not lax in failing to declare the rocks.
My stash of cash carefully cached, I am far from magnanimous:
I love to grab from lass and lad and gab ’bout my swag animus.

Not enamored of glamour queens or scenes of distaff revelry,
Nor enamored of mammaries; puss pensées, distant memory.
I have no time for sex, and I’m quite uninclined to skin adore;
I am not gay, but I must say, I frankly Benjamin adore.

I’ve finally been to where I win multiple Benjamins and more.

I’ll gleefully and gingerly succeed in a rip-offin’ spree.
Big Wall Street trades, many I’ve made from insiders tip-offin’ me.
The “unseen hand” of market planned for, though it’s panned as mythical;
In court I will not land because my hand is Adam Smith a-full.

All fairy tales I will assail, but I believe in unicorns,
The “plenty” type bulging with ripe bills freshly minted, newly born.
In short, it’s Mammon that I pull for. . .mammoth bag is laded full;
Ain’t landing in the slam ’cause the mordida has been paid in full.

I snort that “Mammon is the man!” My mammoth sack is laded full—
I do not mean the one between my gams that once got laid in full.

I’ve searched the earth ’cause my net worth encourages much travelin’—
Just what’s my net? I plumb forget, a matter for mere cavilin’.
No one but me feels my money; it’s just I who will carry that
From here to there, or anywhere; make an attempt, I’ll parry that.

I’m full of guiles and smiles and wiles and quite adept at mummery:
After I feint, you’ll find you ain’t fat and in fact are money-free.
My bodyguards are cruel and hard: that’s too prevent men sappin’ me.
You’ll learn, the laws can’t get their paws in place for their entrappin’ me:

I feed them all; to knees they fall; indeed, soon they’re gen’-lappin’ me.

Yes, money talks and bullshit walks; I speak so loud they won’t get me.
I am a pig and pay no vig and snigger because I’m debt-free.
Nix torts, though I’m damn criminal; my mammoth bag of wealth is full.
I’m enamored of scammin’ swag yet brag, “Each nag ’bout stealth is bull!”