A High Income

A government man you say you are,
And you’ll audit my tax you decree,
Where have I obtained my money?
I detect a bonnet containing a bee.

The Ferrari in the drive you ask,
Does it belong to me?
May I suggest that your strange notion,
Clearly affects your ability to see.

And you ask about the boat,
That stretches from fence to fence,
With an income like mine,
You suggest it doesn’t make much sense.

The house you say as an estimate,
Is bigger than the Eiffel Tower,
And you wonder how I can afford it,
Earning just ten bucks fifty per hour.

Then I explained my fortune,
That from a lottery ticket bode,
And you took another glance around,
Suggesting the result was a record load.

Finally you surveyed the acreage,
Covered in multiple houses hot,
And showed a distinct lack of humour,
Over a little thing called pot.