Baby Hall

And so I have money
Money is the body on me
Money is the lobby I mean
I want money and I got it
I love money and I own it
I like money and I wield it
I need money and I use it
I spend money and I gain it
Beyonce asks in-between lines
"Ladies, do you make your own money?"
I scream "Hell Yeah" from the dancing crowd
My response doesn't matter among a myriad of responses
But I secretly matter to Beyonce, because she matters to me
Rihanna is real in the readership of Real-Vegas
Rihanna is really real
I'm buying Retired Auras a vehicle of horror for singing "RIP" in a hurried way
Hurry up, because I have money
Sorry, I have money
Don't worry, I've got the money
Money, money, we are happy
Money money, we make love in hugging honeys
Cloistering, clogging and meshing to form hurried-up bunnies
My Church bunny is my house rat
My room mat is my grass-root Walmart
Respect my money, honey, don't let our horn of honey get horny
Respect my money, protect my pony
It's all for you baby, it's all for you

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Generosity driven by lust. This poem is original to Victoria Ifeolu, Author of "I Call My Sexuality My God" and "Memories"