I want money in my wallet,
not a promise, not a tease;
just a stack that doesn’t vanish
every time I sneeze.

I want cash that feels committed,
notes that don’t go on the run,
not this “poof‑it’s‑gone” economy
that thinks it’s being fun.

I want coins that hit the table
with a confident little ring,
the kind of sound that tells you
you can buy a decent thing.

I’m not begging for a windfall,
just a week that doesn’t bite.
’They say being broke builds character,
and I’m built way too polite.