Writing Music Poems

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Details | Verse |
.                             

                                                                I 
                                                    And the violins 
                                                 And the woodwinds 
                                                            Weep 
                                                 Softly into the night
                                            So moved by the sounds
                                                        Welling up 
                                                    From the depths
                                                        Of the soul 
                                                      That conveys
                                                  The over-whelming 
                                                     Emotional pain
                                                        Contained 
                                                     In every word
                                                Of the song he sings
                                                      ‘Home to Stay’ .

                                                      ~~~~~

                                            

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010




Details | Rhyme |
Feeling like a lodger
In my own home
Thankful for my music
And my new found roam

Families and communities
They are just so hard to find
But in April 2009
I found the most precious kind

I found the name amusing
So the button i clicked on to see
The layout was very inviting
Like an open door should be

For in a matter of minutes
On first uploading a poem
This Highlander was content
He had found a welcome home

So many lovely writers
Poets who share their bless
No longer this Scotsman is
The Man in the Wilderness



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | I do not know? |
As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010




Details | Ballad |
Don’t send me more 
Of your tragic poems
My dear 
Covered in blood
Of your monthly flood
Of tears

Don’t send me more 
Of your angry poems
My dear
Carved with the knife
Of your molten spite
And fears

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

Don’t send me more
Of your bitter poems
My sweet
Forged in the fire
Of your endless ire
And grief

Don’t send me more 
Of your hopeless poems
My sweet
Ripped from the womb
Of the lonely room
You keep

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

(You see that shadow on the road
Trudging ‘neath its heavy load
A heart weighed down by sands of time
And your poems only make him cry
And he won’t add them to the pile
So he can walk another mile)

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear 
Too heavy, dear
For me to read 
For me to bear

(They make him sad
Make him cry
Beat him down
Deep inside)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

They make me sad
Make me cry
Feel as though 
I want to die

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

(A heart weighed down 
By sands of time
And your poems 
Only make him cry)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear


Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Cinquain |
In touch
with nature,
artistic libido
releases chimera,onto 
the wing

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Lanterne |
Fans
the heart-
that bellows
embers into
flames

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
As I sit in front of these black and white keys,
I can't find the right tune to flow with my breeze..
I stare out the window, over the trees and past
the sky of mine..
Searching for a word and note that can capture
my feelings in a rhyme..
Sometimes a world away or a mile, but still out of
reach to hold..
Then my fingers move and a thought comes out
with a melody not yet sold..
A song of peace, a song of desire..
That builds in my mind and a heart of fire..

Copyright © Michael J. Falotico | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |
Computer genarated is my middle name
Doesn't really matter, when you got fortune and fame
I had standards once, it left while the money came
The names have been changed, but it's all the same
La la la on every station
Thoughtless singers through out the nation
Only hear real words on special occasion
All that really matters is the radio vibration
Bars of ivory are now plastic
Our true potential has been wasted
Learn to lip sync, dance dirty, and lose it
C'mon don't ya know anything 'bout music?
Yeah I know the new stuff was sh*t
It was also a top 40 hit
No need for a conscience or wit
All you need is chocolate skin and an auto-tune kit
Got a little bit heavy with that line
But who cares man, it rhymed!
When you're this big nothing's a crime
Smoking wads of cash, all I got is time
Brings a whole new meaning to money to burn
Pretend I'm your teacher for a sec, take a seat and learn
Where I come from borrowed is earned
We sleep to the poetry of the streets
Where they talk about girls like they're tasty meat
Bangin' on your doors, we're the farthest from discreet
Ring the bell in the night, with masks on, trick or treat
But look, now we famous, kissing babies, they think we sweet
Cry us a river cause our lives are SO hard
Barely even know where to start
Our lyrics come from inside the heart
They're wanting out cause it's cold and dark
Takes real skill to do what I do
Convincing all these lies to be true
They gave me the check so I followed through
I'm too deep in it to just undo
A moment in the studio is called work
Got a sore throat, my vocals hurt
Our next track is gonna sound so absurd
But I bet it'll make it big cause it's rap
The result of five minutes effort



NOTE: I don't normally swear when I write (or even in real life). However I felt it necessary to help get my message across. Also I wanted to challenge myself doing a rap/freestyle.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
    You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm 
protecting.
 
     You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you 
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I 
would never wear.

    If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a 
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me. 

     You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might 
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.

    Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless 
race. 

   I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I 
just need someone to give me courage.

     I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't 
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized. 

      So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You 
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her 
face. 

In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities. 

Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know 
that your confident and well worth the struggle.

Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005

Details | Quatrain |
Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true

I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black

Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life









http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-3.php

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light

Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come

To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.

The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.

Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest 
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.

Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
Arisen

To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.


So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.

With merriment's ink: 
A Kiss; 
A dance; 
A song etched deep: 
Art carved out of sky.

Title: Night Poem

Copyright © Camille Casserly | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
I heard he wrote a good line
That he had flair and style
And as I read his work
That captured me for a while
And there he was, this gray beard
A stranger to my heart

Strumming my soul with his keyboard
Writing my emotions with his heart
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caressing me softly with his love

I felt all elevated my
Emotions all on fire
I felt that he knew me
Read my thoughts outloud
I prayed he won't leave me
Just keep on caressing me awhile for he was

Strumming my soul with his keyboard
Writing my emotions with his heart
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caresssing me softly with his love

He wrote poems as if he knew me
In my darkest days
Then he read right through me
Oh! How much I really craved
For he was 

Strumming my soul with his keyboard
Writing my emotions with his heart
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caressing me softly with his rhyme
Caressing me softly with his love
Caressing me softly with his l--o--v-e

(This is a take off on the song "Killing Me Softly With His Song". I heard it as an instrumental 
and this just hit me.  It applies to all soupers whose poetry has touched my heart as well as 
some of my well know poets and poetessess.)
Written by: Sara Kendrick

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |

CENSORSHIP

There is a language I spoke and I knew.  
It fluently told it's stories in dance.  
Graceful chaînes that turned our spirits out 
and razor sissones to cut with candor.  
There is a light song I willingly played.  
My fingers glissade, ran, courir, en croix, 
rapidly crossing the tired yellow keys.  
There is a bleached canvas white with nothing!  
The brush has eyes.  It's clever at seeing, 
tout va bien, and always without me.   
It tells me what is beneath the linen,  
a textured story in shape and color. 
There are no jagged edges in assemblé. 
The poetry, un mot, could keep the time 
on paper. It knew dimensions, of four, 
in every breath.  It saw the frozen rose.  
It sprinkled stories of death or exploded 
in dimples of joy.  It holds my hand and tells on me.  
A firefly in bourrée is silenced from the play.

By Edlynn Nau
October 8, 2016

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Trudy, Trudy
No more tears
Headphones on
Dis quell those fears
 
Sing your heart out
Sing it strong
Write your lines
Post, where you belong
 
So much sadness
In so many writers
Again write your lines
We are poetry's fighters
 
Armed with pen
On computer sheets
On Word applications
It looks so neat
 
Trudy Diane Rider
This poem's for you
Trudy, Trudy
You'll soon be you



For Trudy Diane Rider

 
 
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup.php

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose |
(Instrumental)

Music is the liberation of the mind
Many nights I get lost in its depths
Eyes closed, in each moment of solitude,
Forgetting about life and its loud parties
Feeling the spiritual mending in my heart
There are well written lyrics
in most of the songs that I love,
But if my poems were put to music
There wouldn't be any words…
And it would be the same feeling,
and feelings are where all meaningful art is born
That’s what music or any art should do for someone
It should make them feel something
Feeling the art is better than hearing it
Do you get where I’m coming from?
Or are you just reading these poems?

August 14th, 2013

Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
When poetry is written,
it mainly comes from the heart.
It's triggered by emotions and thoughts,
composed by the mind, written by the hand.
Poetry states a fact and reveals opinions,
it's music and art mixed into a concoction to touch souls.

Poetry can be written by a liar,
but be so true and honest.
The words can hurt, sting, or burn,
they can melt a heart, warm a soul, or bring out a smile.
Poetry comes natural to a real poet,
if not the art does not flow and may miss a soul or two.

When poetry is written,
it mainly comes from the heart.
It's triggered by emotions, thoughts and experiences,
composed and pieced together by mind, written and revealed by hand.
Poetry states facts and reveals opinions, out there to connect,
it's spoken music and written art, used to touch souls,


*inspired by the quote:
                      "The poet is a liar that always speaks the truth."
                                                           -Jean Cocteau

Copyright © Brittany Paradis | Year Posted 2009

Details | Bio |
there is, indeed,a relationship
between music and poetry
creation! expression! release of things inside
If I had experienced neither, when I had died
And had to value the worth of my life,
And rate the influence my existence generated
for the general good, I'd be shy
How can I explain my worth, after I did die.. 

On this point I'd be proud,
Cause somehow I was so lucky,
To experience the joy of both
and did my best to leave a small mark
of my thoughts upon the earth
If but one word, one song,
one counterpoint jam, one painting
that I had done,
had meant something 
to someone, than in this regard,
I have won!

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Lyric |
II.
"Good sir, for playing the piano I thank thee."
"But for you I did not play, but me."
"That not matters, only you were here."
"I just wanted to play, why is this so dear?"
"I could not write, the atmosphere was dull."
"Perhaps my deep melodies helped ignite the soul."
"From your great sing a poem came to life."
"Thank you friend, for us musicians go through much strife."
"But I play not music, but write verse."
"It's the harmonies inside that cause us the curse."
"I thank thee again sir, you've taught me more new."
"That I did not, it was always in you."

Copyright © Nicholas Enloe | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse |
From downstairs comes an overload 
of lies and suppositions
out of Washington. I shut the door
and open up a book of poems 
that chip and twitter like hard-
luck sparrows. And underneath 
that harmonic line, I tune 
in Rodrigo, who plaints guitar 
to sing of places no gentler 
by the blood that bears us, lung 
to brain and hungers. And yet, 
more beautiful than this evening’s
news, an elegy of strings.

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2006

Details | Fibonacci |
Thoughts
Trapped
Inside
Behind bars
Scales tipped unbalanced
Lack of harmony breeds this chord
Caged word's rhythmic pounding amplifies a deep, dark funk
Deliverance awaits, the blues scribbled into wall graffiti, notes penned behind bars

Copyright © Rhoda Tripp | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |
Musician's notes can sound unearthly powers,
Astounding hearers' eyes with blinding thunders.
The painter's brush can stroke insightful hours,
Surprising viewers' ears with deaf'ning wonders.
Presenting sounds unviewed and sights unheard,
The writer's pen can eyes and ears astonish.
Art's trinity is music, paintings, words;
Yet oft do artists' senses numb, admonish.
Rehearing sounds, musician's ears indict.
Reviewing sights, the painter's eyes confound.
Resenting words, the writer's senses spite.
Their art's at surface false, in truth profound.
          So spite despite, for musing faults and flaws
          Do grace disgrace with rousing earthly awes.

Copyright © Jeremy Michael | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cinquain |
Blind, I walk tap tap
to find my way, rap echo.
Sing song carry me
home to you, bring it home tap
straight to my heart so I hear.

When I see the beat 
boomerang back rap to me
I know your sound space
I know the song of your sense
I hear the cry of your dream

The echoes build loud
Add fluid to the white space
Thoughts of listeners
Adding additional beat
Making new heart, soul, song, sound 

One by one you come
One by one you come online
Choir adding rhythm rip
choir adding some  filigree
add understanding to world

What the rap you make
What the taps you spell out loud
Becomes an image
Shared by all who listen, sing
Wonderful sound, our heartbeat.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
I left my hometown and didn't much look back,
headed southward bound in my Cowboy Cadillac,
arrived at this store to grab me some snacks,
Yea, they're right about this town, of how it really attracks,

Yea, here in the town called Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
They say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers need to be,
but I don't do much singing, 'cause the hound dogs howl at me,
though I sure hope it's worth bringing, my songs, for some to see,

I've got them on the internet, downloading them is free,
I haven't had any right connections yet, but I'm hoping patiently,
gonna find me country singer, try to pitch them a dog gone hit, 
like pitching a horseshoe ringer, you know you just can't quit,

Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where even writers need to be,
no, I don't do much singing, 'cause the hound dogs howl at me,
but I sure hope it's well worth bringing, my songs, for some to see,

Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers hope patiently,
Got some songs to pitch the singers, like me, they just can't quit,
like making a horseshoe ringer, knowing one of them could hit,

I've got them at Poetry Soup, where printing them is free,
log on in, enjoy the view, it's finger friendly as can be,
become a welcomed member, without any sort of fee,
no matter what's your gender, or your nationality,

Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers need to be,
Gonna find me a country singer, try to pitch them a dog gone hit,
like throwing a horseshoe ringer, knowing you just can't quit,

Yea, I left my hometown and didn't much look back,
headed southward bound in my Cowboy Cadillac,
arrived at this store to grab me some snacks,
Yea, they're right about this town, of how it really attracks.

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
This moment I've been awaiting for a number of years To see ones heroes live see them crunching their gears I'm on my way to Glasgow with workmates and friends To finally see live their fantastic tracks they have penned Anticipation now flows into the concert arena we await It's the buzz, the hungered wishing, terrific time trait The moments now close for the lights start to dim For this three piece on song a most wonderful vim Strobe lights, Bass intro, my awaiting now starts To us fans they're our hymns soon singing our hearts Shouting cheering hearing the first vocals now voiced To the chorus now reached such incredible rejoice Mellow chords to lead guitar which slice through the air Decibels so loud for we simply sing and just stare Drum solo so immense it's orchestral to our ears So energetic melodic sublime, to magnificent tier Thanks, plaudits are shared, encore after encore It's not just their lyrics, it's their quite beautiful scores This moment I've been awaiting for a number of year's To see ones heroes live, I have to admit there were tears .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Enclosed Rhyme |

         Gifted with 3 things  on a deserted Island what do I bring .
           Having clothes on,   a smart phone wet not smart at all
              For you have hope in store when you can not make a call ..

         ~ A sharpest of knives that starts fire 
               Ugg boots Australian built resilient  
                  A pot to boil water pure from the salt  ~
   
         This being a hard choice for it's these I desire  ~
        
           Belgium chocolate,  coffee with evaporated milk
               Tea  & sugar to last a decade , paper , pen 
                  A goose down blanket under stars ,warming like silk

           my favorite books , The four agreements 
                A working I pod, guitar, for music is my muse ..

          A Bible to read so I can keep my faith higher ~
      
          After becoming one with all nature I call this my own
             Now bring me a prozac and a cell phone 
            "   A special forces man ...oh no , temptation,  I may not come home ! "
          
           Yet being true to self , and my soul unfolds..
      ~ For I love and miss my children , what is life without them to hold ~
       
          
      "written for Shadows contest on 10-8-13"

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Idyll (Idyl) |
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

Details | Haiku |
sad song emerges
heartache's beautiful phoenix
pain fuels creation

Copyright © Lynne Hanson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Where I'm from we don't do debts, fronts, or take tabs
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
Put that money on the head, you don't need a mask
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
How is a broke fool gon' try and smash
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash

Money on my mind like bread on a sandwich

I run the city, they're the lights, I'm the switch

I stand for what's mine, never see me slip and fall

I'm runnin' the race, you're a baby with a slow crawl

My cash stay on point, like a sharpened pencil

Try 'n' copy my style, you gon' need mo' than a stencil

I don't be's in the trap, buy my workers put-in overtime

Feds can't catch me, never see me committin' crime

That's why from time to time I shoot 'em a raise

And tell 'em to stash cash for those rainy days

If money talk, then there's nothing to say

If B.S walk, none of ya' fools can stay

My money talkin' for me, betta' yet, it's in a conversation

Ya' look like money; make money, nice observation

They say the love of money's the root of all evil

So how much money will it take to really love people

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013