One of the few with money in the banks,

Now we’re in the homeless ranks,

Financial freedom turned this family to live in this slum,

Now we’re all sorry for ourselves, really very glum.

With three children, all snobs,

And don’t forget about Mr. and Mrs. Snobs!

But now we live without a roof above us,

Body’s infected, full of yellow pus.

The son’s turned to drugs,

His friends are all thugs,

He’ll cuss and he’ll spit,

Gone punk, out of wit.

The youngest daughter’s just scared and afraid,

Turned to starvation, as we have no maid,

Where is her pony, where are the parties, guests rambling?

Little does she know, momma lost it to gambling.

The eldest of the three, a woman of eighteen,

She’s turned bitter, she’s turned mean,

Doesn’t care about the family, she wants her college money,

So she’s gone now, papa cries out “come back, honey!”

Daddy’s money’s gone now,

Perhaps the Snobs must sell their only cow!

Momma’s gone crazy, she’s taken a pill,

All her nice clothes gone, now she’s wearing Goodwill!

So this family’s gone down,

Foreheads creased, mouths in a frown,

Miss the days of joy and sun,

So papa brings out his big gun.