Tattoos in Mayberry

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It's high time somebody kicked you
in your money, honey
I've tried talkin' to you
but my words don't seem to filter through.
Must I drop kick you to get your attention?
Finding no other avenue to stamp an impression
than to boot a three pointer through your uprights
a corner kick  into  your stock options snoot.
Take me a free kick at your goal line stance.
Bull rush your pomp and circumstance
Shuttle you around the world 
on a protracted vacation cruise.
Make all our champagne wishes
 a dream come true.
A busman's holiday
on your paid up collateral
Your allure isn't  chemical
as much as it's mathematical
A month long double down
moon shot sabattical.
We'll gourmand on much better 
than cheese food and bologne.
Making memories to last us 
til we're in an old folks home.
and slurping up old coot slop
with our plastic forks and spoons.
We'll, first rent the brightest of stars.
Put on lay-away the rarest of moons.
Put our poorer relations in a tail spin
who are plotting to squander our scatter
too soon.
We'll stiff quack doctors 
who tell us we're terminally ill.
While buying out longer life
elixers and energy pills.
So, baby, hold real still
while I scissor kick 
the fools gold out of you.
Give me the green light
and I'll two stroke you
in your high yield portfolio.
To position both of us
out of the blind rough
and onto that golden fairway.

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Buddy Bee Anthony

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Golden Fairway