"I'm not made of money," I said to my boy,

As we wandered the aisles, where he begged for each toy.

I'm not sure how it happened—A genie? A wishing star?

When I awoke the next morning, I sure felt bizarre.

My boy saw me and giggled.

I'll admit, I also found it funny.

During the night, his wish came true,

And now, I AM made out of money!

Quarters and nickels make up my toes,

Pennies for fingernails, a twenty-dollar nose.

My hair is gone—there's none on my head—

Only flowing locks of hundreds instead.

I don't want to brag or boast,

But if you'll allow me to be so bold

I'd like to think, and I'll just assume—

I have a heart of solid gold.

I'm made of money through and through—

Wadded up cash from ankles to thighs.

Gems and jewels make up the rest,

And two silver dollars for eyes.

Is it a curse? A blessing? A rich new kind of luck?

I'm not quite sure but I feel like a million bucks!