When she passed away, she was a pauper,
It seemed no inheritance she left,
Just costume jewelry, a family photos,
Her Bible, and a good Sunday dress.
I got her bible and some of the photos,
but the secret that no-one was told,
Was there in the highlights, underlines and tear stains,
Is where I found Mama's gold.
See, God was her riches, His word was her treasure,
and Heaven her prize and her home,
Mama would say, "You can't take it with you,
everything here is on loan."
So whether you're poor or whether you're wealthy,
Or whether you're young or you're old,
Let the world count their money, we count our blessings,
It's all there on the pages, of my Moma's gold.
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