Mona

Mona, she knew I loved her and yet, She could not see, prostitution is bad. Bad for the body and bad for the soul. But Mona, my friend, has a heart of gold. She'd give her last dollar to the wino on the street, And yet walk the street, looking for a john. When I need someone to talk to, she is there. Or scared and lonely, whe will come to me. Why, Oh why, must she walk the streets? Surely there are other ways to make her money. There she goes, poor thing, she hasn't a clue! People laugh and make fun of her trashy clothes. Some even don't like the tatoo she proudly wears. Many women knew that she slept with their husbands. But whatever they may think of my friend Mona, I tell you one thing, that girl sure can love! Written December 25th, 2001 © on Dec 25 2001 02:44 PM PST   0 • 9