Mother of mockery

My dear daughter,
Bring me money
Oh Mom, but how?
Be leasing the fertile land

This great temple of yours
Let the men worship therein
While preaching to them,
demand a fat offertory

That is evil, mom!
Then fend for yourself
I’ve grown old now
Patronage is very low

So all this while,
was this the trade?
I’d rather be a head potter
I can’t barter the Persian spring

Don’t be consciously stupid
There is no nobility in that
Please, we are not slaves!
Keep our ‘sabbath holy’

This dirty enterprise
I will desecrate it
I have no interest in it
I stand for good

I hate children who argue
I’m your mom, so listen
Or you’ll sleep outside
Hastily let it be, mom!