Money Maker

It is just paper guys,

Made every day, all the time,

In a government vault,

Just maybe it is, who knows?

It seems to be everyone's' fantasy,

The trip that everyone is craving for,

Lets see if it is what they get,

Possibilities are limited.

As the paper molds a shade of envy,

Running south for the winter,

A new day has just begun,

Everyone freaks out as the printing press rolls,

Out of ink,

The presidents of old would,

Be ashamed of us,

Creating the slavery that started it all,

As the backbone crumbles,

Beneath us all,

There are shadows among us.