O money, money, money. I'm not necessarily one of those who think thee holy, but I often stop to wonder how thou canst go out so fast when thou comest in so slowly.

Here lies my past, Goodbye I have kissed it; Thank you kids, I wouldn't have missed it.

I hope my tongue in prune juice smothers, If I belittle dogs and mothers.

God in His wisdom made the fly And then forgot to tell us why.

Neath tile or thatch That man is rich Who has a scratch For every itch.

Some people's money is merited and other people's is inherited.

Progress might have been all right once, but it's gone on too long.