Dolla Dolla Bill Y'all

Johnny Cash sang a classic song once upon a time, and as he rambled the lyrics, his lungs didn’t lift a finger and take a breath.  The song was “I’ve Been Everywhere” and the person he originally sang it with probably wasn’t June Cash, a recording label or even dedicated to an audience member; it was a duet performed between him and the One Dollar Bill. 

Does the ranking Private of the greenbacks no longer come hard-wired in being a little slut?  It seems as though that it used to perform a little dance and utilized its flexibility to stretch itself thin into some awkward positions that rarely lead it to wander out of my wallet with a hoochie momma stride and into somebody else’s pocket.  Here is a tip that you can put in your little jar, Mr. Paper Currency:  Get off the birth-control pills! Your reproductive organs used to function and duplicate yourself by creating the little pitter patter of dollah footsteps.  Now, my billfold is an empty nest of sorts, and your lack of offspring is impregnating it with a barren-like persona.  Why is it that some people can wake up in the morning to the smell of your moolah flavor in the easy bake oven, and I get up to images of your inability of both exercising your limberness and starving yourself to fit into a size 0?  I used to parade you around as being a double-jointed figure with high self-worth.  Unfortunately, you again need to be taught how to bend over backwards and give more of yourself because your milk shake brings all the boys to the yard.  How is it that the pimp in Warren Buffet can bring out the ho in you, and I can’t even get you to show some skin by making me a penny?  Why didn’t you ever form a posse quick enough when I needed you for rent?  I’m surprised ol’ George isn’t sporting the STDs considering how many strippers he’s been in contact with since his passing.  Maybe the laataays he hangs out with is one of the main reasons he constantly bears that goofy looking grin on his face.  By the way, I am still waiting for your buds to bloom into that highly coveted money tree in my backyard.  Lord knows that in today’s economic situation, you would clone yourself better in a dug hole than lounging around like a fat cat at some financial institution overworked and underpaid. The next time you’re given up for adoption in an offering plate, would it be possible for you say a prayer or two for me?  It would be much appreciated.