Money Talks

Damn it, love Flip the bird at the red Light. Phone sex with my ex-wife. Four bottles, one night. I'm on the subway home having fist fights. French fries, a little sriracha. Four in the morning watching Harry Potter. Counting money in my white boxers. You need a little hit, you know that I Got ya. I got a forty in the bag With your name on it. Walking out the deli With a Chuck it in my belly, this a Wifey, this alone is your Sweet 'n low up in my Powerade. Mix it with Patrón in a five-eight. I take a sip, I take the whole jug. And now that got me fucked up. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back. New York Yankees cap on my ball badge. Nunchucks in my backpack. Step too close, I'm swinging at your nut sack. Prick you with a thumbtack. Stick you with the blicky in a lunch bag. Wallet heavy, pants sagging to my butt crack. Baby, you can't touch that. Baby, you wanna touch this. But baby, you can't touch this. Ashtray for the dutches. And a plate full of Dunkin' I got cash in abundance. And a little stash in the dungeon. Wife's cooking up the luncheon. Ox at meat, don't be stingy with the onions. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back. Money talks and I talk back, talk back