Cash money is a constant, a constant worry and a constant pain
Always the big talk of the town even though it's the same ol' same
Like everywhere you go, you can always feel its presence
See its aftermath in people, regardless of its irrevelence
Yet it still matters a lot, whether you think abstract or realistic
Money is not an object because Mother Earth isn't materialistic
But it turns people into stalkers, damned object of affection
What started out as competition has legions landed in the corrections
Who'd have thought that currency would be the root of all evil
A green-eyed she devil we all love to lust for; Hey it's our funerals

omg! i love this poem! especially the last line, great work =D

I agree, the last line seems to give the entire piece its attitude.

i really like it.