you're words are soft
but cut so deep
they drive a hole into my cheek
your tears are cold
but storms unfold
as we **** ourselves for silver and gold
money falls
burning right through our fragile walls
people on the street fighting for pennys

and we're walking on

singing all about our troubles
in our bubbles
making it rain
but i'm still from the hood in my brain
buying clothes for fun
got 99 problems but a dollar ain't one

walking down the street while angels digging through the trash
hoping for the day they're "free at last free at last"

we **** ourselves
for diamonds
hoping nobody can find them
running marathons for paper chains
drilling it into our brains we need it
the better life
while our souls burn in bank accounts and my dear wife
doesnt believe
money is the root of everything
so she left me
with my family
but i still got my maid
having money troubles
isn't "not having enough"
it's not having it to blame