Money Talks | Serve It Up
The note hits the table — crisp, blue, and loud. It don’t need a label, don’t need a crowd. One flick of the thumb, one glance at the stack — The room leans in, never talks back. Yeah, money talks, but not with a tongue — It speaks in the favors that suddenly come. It whispers in bribes, it shouts in the bids, Silences questions from curious kids.
The dealer fans cards with a gold-plated smirk, The suit in the corner just finished his work. He slid an envelope under the door — Now two armed guards don't work there no more. Money talks in a dialect clean: No verbs, no grammar, just green on green. It says "jump" — you ask how high. It says "forget" — you kiss goodbye. money talks serve it up
Yeah. They say talk is cheap, but money? Money orders the meal, picks the wine, decides who eats last. So don't just hear it — plate it. Serve it up. Let 'em taste the gospel of the green. Amen. Would you like this as a song lyric, a monologue, or a short film voiceover? I can adapt it further. The note hits the table — crisp, blue, and loud
