Every time a cash drawer flings open, a bankster gets more bling to blow on yachts, puffin on hydroponic blunts, straight rollin…holdin hands with the devil herself…and still I bought this Fiji water for two fifty retail in a non-reusable plastic bottle and threw it away for convenience’s sake…so hell, can I really blame anybody else but myself for the way this world revolves around gross profit sales?

I’d love to blame it on the ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-capitalism, got me feelin lose with my eight hundred dollar paychecks…love to blame it on the student loans that got me in this deficit zone…but I can’t…not if I’m standing up, not if I’m deciding to be a man in this world of grown children, not since I have no plan to sit back down like some castrated wage slave…disillusioned…pacified all night all day with mindless entertainment…huddled away in some hi-def surround sound cave…soul pollution…left to decay there until there’s no other solution to satisfy a person’s sense of self-worth than with hourly rates, salaries and tax breaks…

Maybe I’m being too harsh with myself and everybody else right now, and honestly I don’t even feel so strongly about all these nickels and dimes…I guess that’s the beauty of letting the inner voice express itself uncensored in verse and rhyme…but all the same, this shit is real…or so I make it in this space in time…see, ultimately love resolves all things back to itself, to the source of all being…but can’t you hear that cash drawer ringing?
Sounds like a bankster somewhere…is blingin.

Wonder$ul Li$e

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