it’s another summer morning
at the store
sunscreen in the air and flip-flops
on the floor
chaotic children run around
like dust inside a sunbeam
and I wonder if I even dare to dream

I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
I’m fully aware it’s hot, but I’d really rather not
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore

every day it’s wearing down my will
as each new customer comes
to the till
in one hand, a beverage that they need to stay hydrated
pulling from their person, currency that’s fully saturated

I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
if it’s been inside your sock, I just don’t want it at all
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore

If I only had a day without wet money
if every bill was clean and crisp and dry
my retail disposition would be sunny
I’d smile each customer right in their eye
and I wouldn’t be ignored or
condescended to
I’d say how’s it going and they’d say -
doing well, and you?
and I wouldn’t go home wondering if this is all my life is for
selling Deadpool books to aging hipsters at a comic store..
is this what I intended when I reached this age?
dayjobbing sporadically for minimum wage?
am I heading towards or have I just surrendered all my dreams?
if the cash was dry it wouldn’t be as bleak as that all seems….

I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
there’s a answer - what do you call it?
oh that’s right, a gosh darn wallet
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore