A billionaire I am or some might--
say, a snob or rich boy choose your fight,
although my house a mansion may be,
my yard fled with tent and marquee,
the garage with seven chevrolet--
each parked in order to amaze.
For all one knows- my closet could be filled--
with attire made only by the ultra skilled.
My friends could all be well off socialites
my kitchen counters all of rubellite!
It's possible my moisturizer-
from caviar is made-ask my advisor!
Conceivably my toes with gold are painted,
and my windows and glasses untainted,
but please don't pity my luxurious lifestyle
and i'll try not to pity yours as I smile.