We three kings oriented are
Seeking gifts we coerce so far
From the sheep upon the mountain
Plundering their cash jar.
O star of plunder, star of fright
Star with shame and guilt so trite
Still misleading, still proceeding
Beguile us perfectly out-right.
Born a King on Mo-Royalty's plain
Bring us gold to crown again,
Bling forever, ceasing never
Over peeps all to reign.
No common sense to offer have I,
Dollars and cents are Deity nigh
Pray'r and praising, all fund raising,
Entrepreneurship is our high.
Mammon is mine, it's sweet perfume
Breathes of life of gathering bloom
Flowering, signing, donating, prying,
Funds from those in the tomb.
Glorious City Creek Mall arise,
A profit margin we surmise
More shops and condos to ya
Damn the poor, ignore their cries.