I do not like a millionaire,
Oh, they are rich,
I do not care,
For sexiness, there’s no compare,
Tween grant writers and millionaires.
I do not like a playboy either,
They’re sleek and tan,
Yet do they neither,
Grab my heart with style and flair,
O’r grant writers I lust and stare.
Trust babies hold least appeal,
In spite of spending zest and zeal,
Their swank lank tan,
With age departs,
It’s grant writers who steal my heart.
A king, a czar, a racing car,
May sparkle, flash, a shooting star,
Replete with gold seducing all,
But fame and fortune soon will fall,
For grant writers my engines stall.