I’d Rather be a Poor Man

I’d rather be a poor man than a mafia kingpin.

I’d rather be a poor man than a mafia kingpin.

I married a woman who was in it for the money.

In it for the money for her and her sister.

And every time her sister asked lend, she gave it right up.

“Go ahead I’ll (my husband) will spot you for the cash.”

And she dreamed she’ll be a millionaire, and I hope she will,

Stop leaching money off me.

And if she does, I never want a cent of it.

Because I’d rather be a poor than a mafia kingpin.

I’d rather be a poor man than a mafia kingpin.


And a man I know whom I call Padrino,

I met him in jail and we went to the casino.

I learned to gamble and win a little cash.

It was like marbles in third grade.  Starting with little.  Ending with lots.

And Padrino said, when talking of whores and prostitutes,

“Prime cuts cost good money.”

Nice of him to share his secrets with one naive as I.

For my one wife and single sex partner who said to me,

“I prefer adultery.”  Ergo, “You do not want me in your life.”

I said, “WHAT!!”  And I had the worst night of my life.


Lamech tallied his secret number 77.

Built an army arrayed in robes.

Indoctrination.  University education.  Drones designed to his end.  200 million strong.

Generic repetition of knowledge by verse, not vision.

But I defeated him with a 97.  I hear he got belittled for that.

And so Lamech claiming to be,

But along with Isaac and Jesus Christ, all three.

A plan amassed to take it all.  So different each one.

Surely all would fall.

If one could not defeat, then surely another

Jesus by his blood or Isaac by symbolic of the same.

If Jesus could not snare, then surely Isaac.

And if neither, then Lamech,

Appeal by money.

And I snuck in right to the mainframe.

Put a virus in, right in their mainframe.

Ada’s diet I poisoned by degrees.

Zillah’s sister I did as I pleased.


And Lamech mafia kingpin arrayed in university robes.

Isaac and his robes adorned by all his clothes.

And Jesus by simplicity by back-door gaming and incognicity.


But I have shades.  Invisible, too.

And I don’t want to be a Donald Trump,

Golden towers to adorn.


And being sued for international anti-corruption for gains overseas.

Corruption corruption, corruption, if you please.


And the “invisible hand” will never stand the test of time.

Nor will Lamech and his riches worldly dine.

Tower of the unfaithful, the wicked, the pride of the world and the wisdom of it,

Standing on a simple pillar, a moundhill of shit.

The mistreatment and abuse of humanity,

For all to see

For all to see

The mistreatment and the abuse of humanity.

By violence they spread “peace.”

By intimidation because no dares speak.

Is that to last and if so, how long?

The rich who dies no sweeter his song.

His numbers and bank accounts, symbols alone are.

Numbers for money, symbols for many.

Who trust that simple, that simple,

As though a barrel of oil were worth a soul.


Asked whom I married, Venezuala, how are they?

“No toilet paper,” She said.  But then, “Just kidding, it’s just expensive, super expensive.”

And so go the comforts of life with symbols of little value in life.


I have plenty of symbols.  Of them I am rich.

Money is not one of them, but one of mine is greater than it.

And my house may measure no more than 320 square feet,

But that does not matter to me.  That does not matter to me.

Neither Lamech with all his gold.

Neither the rest of angels and folds.

Happily I happily I happily I to just be me.

Happily I happily I happily I to just be me.


And people rip at me and make fun at me

For who I am, for who I choose to be.

But I would rather be a poor man than a mafia kingpin.

I would rather be a poor man than a mafia kingpin.

A strong man doesn’t need to show.

A smart man doesn’t need to prove it, not even in a university preach-stand.

A fast man doesn’t need to compete it.

He knows it.  He is it.  Case closed.

This trial is over.


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