You pack your bag,
Go where money could be made.
Don’t believe in fag,
But where cash is laid.
Work? Oh, no way.
Seems nothing’s good enough.
That’s what you say,
But we know you bluff.
Fixed on fortune is an eye,
You’re quite a hunter.
For wherever it lies,
You go even in the harshest winter.
You don’t disclose any plan,
Or deny the rumor,
That you’re going to a faraway land;
Regarding us like a tumor.
*Photo by Amir Hosseini on Unsplash
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