Money

When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door. Then felt I like a child that holds A trumpet that he must not blow Because a man is dead; I dared Not speak to let this false world know. Much have I thought of life, and seen How poor men's hearts are ever light; And how their wives do hum like bees About their work from morn till night. So, when I hear these poor ones laugh, And see the rich ones coldly frown— Poor men, think I, need not go up So much as rich men should come down. When I had money, money, O! My many friends proved all untrue; But now I have no money, O! My friends are real, though very few.