I’ve never had very much trouble Making money throughout my life

It seemed to come to me easily Without great endeavour or strife.

 

There’s really no secret to money It’s just commonsense, indeed;

Identify who is your buyer And then have the thing that they need.

 

It might be some goods or a service Your brains or your labour, indeed;

You offer them a proposal Then sell them the stuff that they need.

 

There’s nothing immoral about it; And all of my personal gain

I’ve earned by the socialist maxim Of Labour. “By hand and by brain”.

 

But now I’ve encountered a problem A biblical parable, which

Keeps me behind that camel So I don’t intend to die rich.

 

It’s almost a comical contest (Forgive the blasphemous phrase)

The Good Lord’s beckoning finger And me clinging on to my days.

 

So I need to catch up to that camel; It “needles” me night and day

So I thought of a plan to address this – I’d give my resources away.

 

I found this quite disconcerting, Resolving to make a Plan B

So simple in its execution – I’ll spend all my money on me.

 

We’ve holiwags booked for Barbados We’ll cruise the Norwegian fjords

We’ll caravan down in the Cotswolds In Norfolk we’ll boat on the Broads.

 

You’ve seen the new Lamborghini? All phallic and fast and in red

We’re dining in Oliver’s restaurants (That’s Jamie, it has to be said).

 

Of course my best secret weapon Which, one time, would cause me some hurt

In bleeding white of my millions, Is none other, you’ve guessed, than Our Gert.

 

She works on the case like a Trojan The task which once I found hard

Accelerates now so swiftly By dint of the old Mastercard.

 

So progress is quite satisfactory And seems to be going so fine;

The biggest unknown in the project Is guessing the finishing line.

 

And so a successful conclusion Bar any unforeseen glitch

Awaits me at the Pearly Gates;

 

I don’t intend to die rich.