Croesus loves me, this I know,
’cause I’ve miles-high piles of dough.
Bags of bucks to me belong;
I’ll score more—it won’t be long

Yes, Croesus loves me;
never he’ll shun me;
lets no one dun me.
I’m piling up the dough.

Croesus loves me and my pile.
I’m togged in the highest style.
Fives alone reach to my chin…
do anything for a fin.

Yes, Croesus loves me;
he’s still above me
in mounds of money.
I’m pining for more dough.

Croesus loves me and my dough;
away more and more I stow.
I spy at my treasury;
the sight surely pleasures me.

Yes, Croesus loves me.
Gelt! Croesus loves me.
Pelf! Croesus loves me
He drives me to mine dough.

Yes, Croesus loves me;
toward scores he shoves me.
I whore for money.
My guile finds me more dough.