I might’ve been born in the backwoods 
and raised in a yard sale wardrobe 
but I know what Versace looks like, honey. 
And how to pronounce it, too. 
Did you think I couldn’t clock couture 
from a seat at the front of the room?
I belong there, same as you, 
in my bright red Walmart boots. 
Like poor folks ain’t seen big brand names
come strolling into the room?
It’s a condescending clip-clop, 

the sound of stylish wedges 
stamping down hope.
I’m a low-budget, high style hillbilly, sweetie. 
And even my country ass knows
those things are so two seasons ago.  
I’ll stick with some flea-market bootleg Versase,
with a long aaaaaa and a soft c
and a clear conscience.
And I’ll make it look good. 
Pardon the colloquial code switch,
but it turns out you can be rich and jakey 
all at the same damn time.