Yo! Don’t Front.

Little money soon expended

Snobbish imp on lofty pedestal

Vagabond vaunting vanities

Of ecclesiastical proportions

Stop it! 

There's more to being than

Mere manifestations of mental

Enslavement to things material

You say, "Money"

I say, "Manners"

What gives you fright? 

That you lose it all 

And the veil of pretense that

Cloaks your rottenness swiftly

Torn? 

Who do you think you are?!

Midas? 

Your ill-gotten golden glitter 

Soon fritter away

You are but bone and ash 

And foul malignancy

Little money soon expended

Vain-glory leads the little of heart

To their deserved grave 

Money, swag and craven soul

Money! 

And the endless chase...

Now what's so special in that? 

PS: Looking at you, Trump.