The Auctioneer’s Tongue

The auctioneer’s tongue truly smokes
Like the barrel of an MG ‘42
And words fly like tracers
To get your wallet away from you.

“I’ll take 500, who’ll gimme 6?”
His flames blaze right outta his throat
And, brother, you gave it all up
In that massive check you wrote.

“I’ve got 6, now who’ll make it 7?
I’ve got 800, let’s make it 9!”
He fairly scorches his hot dollar fire
And Lordy, but don’t he whine!

“Last and final call!” he’ll yell
And he’ll look at every face
Coaxing just one more bid
In his money-grubbing race.

"Going once, and it's going twice!
Now it’s going, going, GONE!"
And I hope you made your best deal
‘Cuz my friend, you’re taking it home!