I’ll paint my future with five golden gods
Grow gardens covered with rose, amethyst
Those fine looking men will glimmer and nod
And answer my bell bringing gin with a twist

They’ll make fine trees crafted chocolate, dark
And play pleasant tunes about the place
When strolling along I sample the bark
Will pay no mind to those dark clouds effaced

And five golden gods drape me leather, lace
A perfect picture, small scene dimly set
They bow tussled heads to take proper place
But one thing is missing “Call me Babette”

The painting is clear, this is what I see
Five strong golden gods tend only to me.