By Anne Conner

Money, money, what is this?
What glorious things can you miss.
The love of it that is worse,
It is like an awful curse.

Fire, fire, what is this thing?
Oh, what many burns it can bring.
It is to some only a flame,
And to others just a game.

Devil, devil, who is he?
He's much more than very mean.
Oh he's the master of all evil,
And you does he seek to kill.

Hell, hell, what is this?
Believe me now don't take the risk.
The devil and fire will be there,
And money for it none will care.

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