"oldies" poems
Oh Generational gap, a cancer of to all mankind. The father of lack of communication between the young and the old. A difference brought about the tastes and values.
The pain faced between young and aged but can’t be touched. It started by 1960’s the decades of revolutionary change. It cut across the world in values of *** religion and civil rights. The disease the emerged earned its self a name by social scientists. It then became “Generational Gap”
I would love to quote a man of great thoughts, Alexis De Tocqueville, who commented that;
“Among democratic nations, each generation is a new people” I have come to appreciate these words.
When I walk down the streets noticing the rising incompatibility existing in our society
Though I admire the old days when the old and young associated freely, working on the same farms
Grandparents telling stories to their little ones; what a lovely society they had.
With the invention of television and computers some families were bonded in communication
While others live in agony especially the illiterate.
The old desire different designs from the youth, whose trends change per living day of nakedness
Young people prefer working in executive places like offices compared to the donkey farm work considered to be for the old
Another cause of generational gap is decay in morals; the young people feel like they know everything and don’t like to be corrected thus taking information from old people as outdated, young people finding lots of hardships to great their elders
In the field of music elders prefer oldies and more preferably educative songs, and as for the youths they delight in Hip-hop and dancehall, am sure those present here can testify to this a term with no disco dances makes us dull students.
When it comes to religious issues, youth find it a burden to go to church and if they offer to go they prefer it to be in a club way. Praise and worship accompanied by jazz unlike the old days where drums are the centre of music.
Cultures in this way have greatly faded away; the trend of western culture has flamed up the world.
Drugs and *** are a hobby and celebrated amongst the youth, yet *** to the old was for companionship and co-creation.
But when we came to medical technology we all applause in general, young or old there is easy treatment, use of scanners, and medical facilities cuts across.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
a grandchild
for her 9th birthday
very happy
to be away from her older
as well as her younger sister
for a while
spent a long weekend
with her grands
they picked her up
schoolbag and bathing suit
and guitar & everything else
she had already mentioned
that French Toast for breakfast
would be REALLY nice
and that’s what she got
together with chocolate milk
1 minute in the microwave,
according to her wish
patiently reading her book
while the oldies got their act together
in their slow morning routine
they all went birthday shopping
& out for lunch
she read her book again while the oldies
were snoring their nap
& then they all had great fun
swimming and horsing around in the public pool
watching some TV
& improving her ping-pong game
happy & tired
after dinner some goodnight reading
doughnuts and hot chocolate for breakfast
next morning
and then
with grandma’s help
printing out a card for Mom on Mother’s day
AND baking real brownies as a gift….
a happy & proud 9-year old
was delivered to her parents
& presented her mother with the card
& the brownies & the new dress
& the homework all done
somehow
the guitar practice had gotten lost
yet she was the envy of her siblings
for the day
* * *
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
I listen to music that matches my mood
The music is like color to my senses
Pink: A happy tune
Blue: A sad song
Green: A song with lots of energy
Purple: A song that makes me feel joyful
Black: A depressing tune that I cry to
Mixing them would be like a rainbow after the rain
A mixture of happiness, joy and pain, what remains is mood music, let it play
I sometimes want to play something with a rocking beat, to clean to, to make the time fly by
Other times I want to really personally connect with the lyrics, when I need to cry
There are times when I will listen to some oldies, i will not lie to reflect on days gone bye
There are times I’m in the mood for a country tune
In my lifetime , i have often sung the blues when the problems of life knocked me down
I try to brush off the dust and get back up and listen to something I can dance to
I sometimes don’t want to hear words and like to listen to Classical music, like Bach
I sometimes will listen to pop
I also like some experimental electronic music
created by a friend
I Love music and may the Love never end
I sometimes need to unwind after a tough day and listen to something inspirational
I take off my shoes and my socks and listen and relax or just dance in my own unique way
I say whatever my mood I Love the tunes and I like to play it Loud and be swept away
It is all Mood Music , Let It Play!
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
On a long car ride home,
I'll lean into my backpack and jacket and nap...
but before i fall asleep,
i look out the back window, up into the cold dead sky
and watch as the clouds move above me.
I'll wake up an awkward 20 minutes later with a kink in my neck
and some lines from seams in my cheek.
The radio plays oldies
that the driver knows all the words to,
and i've heard too many times.
I imagine the same song
being played off the same record
over
and over
every time it was heard
and think about use and age and wear and tear
then rips in reality
then movies and the matrix
and the force
and all the forces that weigh us down...
like gravity
responsibility or obligation.
I wouldn't be in this car if it wasn't for force.
I wouldn't be in many situations if it wasn't for force.
I imagine how different i would be
or how different everyone would be
if it wasn't for the push of civilization
or money and being proper.
My face like a thunderstorm.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
It was the whole universe on the surface area of the white wires that took me home. I like the oldies. Sometimes I’m just too tired to learn a new song. The old songs are just as good, just as beautiful, perhaps more. And it’s not that I’m mad at you, I’d just rather hear Elton’s voice than yours. I know that your story is important, but I’ve heard it before. Yeah, I’ve heard his too, but his is more interesting, and I like it better. So please to don’t call me self- centered, like the uninteresting, dependent generation that I was born into. So I don’t think I’ll take out my headphones right now. I like hearing the music.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
My head is reeling
What a feeling
Bass line pounding through my brain
Skull is cracking
Quite nerve racking
I need something to help dull the pain
Images horrific
Pressure is terrific
Listening to what the station plays
Eyes are burning
The world is turning
It's like it is the end of days
I need to spend some time relaxing
Getting my music back into my head
Listening to ABBA oldies
followed by David Gates and Bread
An afterword or two by Chapin
With The Carpenters along as well
Will help me clear my mind of what's there
And take away the images of hell
KHEL, hour of power
The station of the hour
Killing my braincells by the day
Hard Rock bottom feeders
Rotten Singers, silly bleeders
I don't know why I stay
Thrash and Metal
Brain won't settle
My head is almost set to burst
Glass and Glitter
Makes me twitter
I no longer think disco was the worst
I need to spend some time relaxing
Getting my music back into my head
Listening to ABBA oldies
followed by David Gates and Bread
An afterword or two by Chapin
With The Carpenters along as well
Will help me clear my mind of what's there
And take away the images of hell
Hey There DJ
That's what the kids say
I do it just to help to pay the bills
Super sonic
I need a tonic
To help me swallow down the pain pills
Every morning
Without warning
The pain begins in my head
Metal grating
Music hating
I guess I'll feel alright when I'm dead
I need to spend some time relaxing
Getting my music back into my head
Listening to ABBA oldies
followed by David Gates and Bread
An afterword or two by Chapin
With The Carpenters along as well
Will help me clear my mind of what's there
And take away the images of hell
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Imagery of our childhood,
Way back when, are patterns good?
Did we get the pieces to fit?
Is there closure, to get 'over it'?
We're only humans, can make mistakes,
As forming lives, our oldies shaped--
Environment versus heredity,
What is their true legacy?
Is there no closure on way back when
Are puzzles really what childhood meant?
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
Covered feet on black clicking the time of walking stride
The fume of frozen gas sticking to my throat
The late winter leaves having stuck to guttered sidelines
Their huddled swaddled backs burdened with the soft shell of academia
I missed this place
As much as it is a sign of failure it also holds triumph
Where I found my mind when I thought the world
Was defined by a god long dead
That I was lost in a sea of faces
Who prayed, believed and spread faith
Like a soothing blanket
Their thoughts where not troubled
They didn't not question
They had hope
As false as I believed it to be
Even now as I watch them
Flocking to bus stop shelter
How they hold a happiness beneath their chilled skin
Glowing with some assurance I feel I'll never have
But I'm pushing for that feeling
That place to belong
Somewhere between down to earth and too consumed with my study
But not quite there enough to fall into that group
That speaks academics but knows when to let go
But I can't let go
When it is a matter to the existence of even having a soul
Why do others not feel this need to know what constitutes their own being
Why do I scream out silently to persons whom I had not hoped to know
For we all know that faces on the web are less real than those we see
Everyday
Every moment waiting for that moment they would reach out and cure the ache of loss
They slow the footfall pavement
When passing the stop
Hearing the lively chatter
The silly matters that don't haunt an old soul not looking trouble
As if their frequency vibrates on a different level
Fm to my Am
Where the genuine character of my self turns back on itself
And I become the shy
Confused not knowing how to approach them
So instead of humiliate I walk by
Singing my oldies and rhyming my rhyme
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
The sadness is to much to Handel, on the couch of my humble home.
I'm listening to oldies songs, but sitting all alone.
There's only one thought running circles in my head.
If that's what it comes to, I'll die comfy in bed.
No one cares, and no one tries.
No one knows I'm dying inside.
I'm frozen and stuck, don't know what to do.
People have their own problems, I'm nothing new.
The agony builds, day by day
It's physical now, not going away.
I think of all of my favorite things, those I cherish and moments I favor.
Right now I believe that I would be fine to not see them again. To be gone forever.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Do you ever wonder?
Wonder if there's someone right now
forgetting their keys and getting locked out?
experiencing their very first kiss?
looking warmly at their loved one?
asking for directions in broken French?
dancing to oldies with their best friend?
looking at the stars and smiling?
kissing their boyfriend in an alleyway?
reading your favorite book?
listening to indie songs in their car?
singing their baby girl to sleep?
taking their first breath?
or their last?
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
her makeup
made a tiny mocha stain
on the inside lip
of my yellowed sink
as I drove home
and listened to the oldies
a man stumbled through crosswalks
under the old railroad
his shadow looked
noosed through the beams
the next day
I watched a squirrel eating
styrofoam like cotton candy
I wonder if we feel
how everything moves
around our heads
*molasses and lightning
the surf and the coast*
I don’t always feel drowned
I don’t always feel whole
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
You were my gangster
And i was your little princess
We always listened to oldies on the radio
Those lonely nights, nothing to choose
You know, I love the silence
But silence without you is not a silence
Karma came around
Like I knew it would
Look, she's laughing
And you laugh like you have never been lonely
Pretty girls are spinning around you
But loneliness is our queen
Let's go to the miss America
'Cause Jeff Buckley is my second daddy
You said "We are not alone"
But you are a lier
I loved you thousand times and i still love you, honey
I thought you are too good for me, but I was wrong
You are a bad boy, aren't you?
And I love the way you talk with me
Look, she's laughing
And you laugh like you have never been lonely
Pretty girls are spinning around you
But loneliness is our queen
Look, she's laughing
And you laugh like you have never been lonely
Pretty girls are spinning around you
But loneliness is our queen
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
I'm going to L.A. and I'm going to smoke and wear black
What a rainy day
I would be safe and warm is I was in L.A.
Flower's dancing in the rain
Dream brother, dream brother, dream brother is on my mind
Jeff Buckley, hell yeah
Oh how sad
It's too cold to wear only my ******* and long t-shirt
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
That soft and jazzy sound on my mind
You know, when I get tired of life I listen to Elvis
I need my man, I need somebody
I don't want to listen to oldies all alone anymore
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
My red, velvet party dress
Feeling **** killing you
Feeling '50s queen in my heart
Living like a homeless, but c'mon
My red, velvet party dress
Feeling **** killing you
Feeling '50s queen in my heart
Living like a homeless, but c'mon
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Strangers in the night
Cold mid July
Pop, lock and drop out of high school
This is what i really want
I dress like I'm going to a red carpet
Or like I'm a homeless drug addict
Say no to the bad days
This is what i really want
Crystal wine, disco ball
He always calls me princess
She was a superstar, superstar
Oh, honey, make my eyes sparkle again
He brushes my hair so slowly
Don't stare at me like this, sweetheart
Hold me closer, tiny dancer
And I will find love, and pleasure
And tenderness, and passion
Hard to believe you are not mine anymore
You mean the world to me
Lilac mermaids on my mind
Listening to oldies on the radio with you again
Crystal wine, disco ball
He always calls me princess
She was a superstar, superstar
Oh, honey, make my eyes sparkle again
Crystal wine, disco ball
He always calls me princess
She was a superstar, superstar
Oh, honey, make my eyes sparkle again
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are leaders here to annoy ya?
Ghosts of government past,
We've had enough drivel to last!
Our systems need to improve,
Building bias, not a good groove.
Kids are born colour-blind,
They teach oldies their great minds,
We're ashamed of our politicians,
Any excuse today? Like superstition,
Then there's youth unemployment,
Disaffected youth for deployment,
Mendicants at charity, welfare dependents.
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are politicians sent to annoy ya!
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
Cool kid euphoria with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on is what we all are in the basement of the 50’s house.
Our phones blowing up while we sip whiskey and wine.
Trying to get the attention of the cars on the main road
By handstanding and flashing and cheersing our beers
And we receive our victorious honks.
Guitar clock radio with numbers around the fretboard and Sir Paul smiling and crooked, acid-trippin’ guitarist/violinist/celloist looking product of orange and gold look down upon as our patron saints.
Swingin’ low, Sweet Chariot words stares up at me from the 70’s floral carpet.
Ralph Stanley and Eric Clapton singing solos and duets in my head keep me company as the boys play and figure out key changes.
Painted screen hiding the Etta James microphone stands forgotten in the corner—
As I take in the teals and roses and golds.
Give me a heart shaped box where I can store my love
I fly so high in the world above
I’ll come back down eventually.
Lava lamped water stain engulfs the ceiling. As fingers go up frets
And they go down frets
And they go up frets
And they go down frets.
As you don’t enunciate when you sing.
We all mourn our fallen brethren, the base of the telecaster with no strings and no head and it weeps silently from its place on the water pipes, hearing his cousins WAAAIIIIILLLLLL.
As Cool kid euphoria is created with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on in the basement of the 50’s house.
We work all day so we can drink all night
Getting high off the drug that is each other
Chain-smoking Pall Malls like it’s our job
Listening to oldies as we shoot the eight ball in the corner pocket.
Garden tools and Lawn Mower parts as a sweet, creepy décor in the dank basement
As we breathe in mold and dust and cigarette smoke.
We are gloriously young.
So **** off.
We still think we can change the world.
Not through politics or through fear or by means of war
But by doing just enough to get by and loving everybody for who they are, even the parts or religions or particular ways of life we don’t like,
Because people aren’t what they do or what they believe
They’re who they are.
We still think we can change the world
And Maybe one day, we will
But for now
We’ll just be here,
In the basement of the 50’s house with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
My rages
Tearing pages
Going Cray
Ripping pages
My flow
Changing phases
Amazes
On stages
Front row
Front pages
Your rapping, verbally attacking
Any Enemy slacking
Riff Raff'em
Taking charge
Like a captain
Ice challenge
Chilling living lavish
Way Above average
About to fix me a samwich
Let us with cabbage
Went H.A.M.
Over some beef
Got bread
Hand some cheese
Hate spam
Love trees
Cool breeze
In Belize
Blowing Lush Kush
In blush trees
Across seas
They love me
See a tree huggers bush
Land and strip; No leaves
I'm cooler than an oldies, in his ******
Eating Coco puffs watching ice-t
In a wife-tee, drinking iced ice-t.
Spiking spike, while playing Exite Bike on an old PC
Laughing so hard
I *** ***
I wish you
Could see me
On HD with an HD
With At&T;
Getting my P.H.D.
Figure it out
Too late
Quarter past three
Then they
Passed me
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
since I last
rode a bus,
no, poems aplenty
have poured and dripped
from ink-saturated fingers,
here there and everywhere,
disguised by many a nom de guerre
the bus riding infrequently,
as work no longer demands me,
I ride for the occasional occasion, when legs won’t
carry me the far away distances
they say violence in the city
is random, and just seems worse,
seemingly a newspaper creation,
but I know better, and random violence &
poetry inspiration do not walk or talk
hand in hand, not for the hands that write…
in every crack, lamppost,
festooned
with flyers for concerts years ago,
poems reached out to me, write, right?
I too am papered with memories of long-ago
city travels, picking up scenes & dreams
that became poems, instantaneously, scrambling,
to get home with them retained, untainted,
preserved with the freshness of city smells,
city swells, homeless, rowdies & oldies shuffling,
the interwoven of disparate desperate humans,
fodder once and now for Walt Whitman’s leaves,
each distinct needy for something else,
but for me,
just one city big view, a Cloister’s museum tapestry,
remade, rewoven anew every moment of every day
and a poem-rough tumbles from
without
&
within
,
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 8:55 AM UTC
We smoked our first cigarette together
And our first joint too,
The first time I got really drunk I was with you.
When I was with you life didn’t seem so bad,
Around you I never felt lonely or sad.
We listened to Bon Jovi and Tracy Chapman too
We liked all the oldies that no one else knew.
We finished each others sentences and each others smokes,
We listened to each others problems and laughed at each others jokes.
We swore to be friends till death do us apart,
You were like a sister to me, I gave you a piece of my heart.
Over the past few months our friendship has aged,
You avoid coming to see me you say that I’ve changed.
But what you don’t realize is you have changed too,
You don’t seem to be the same person that I once knew.
I need this old train to breakdown so that I can tell you the truth,
I’ve missed you everyday since I left, you’re more than a best friend you’re a sister…
I love you Dude…
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
We're golden oldies, you see,
This is a concern for thee and me,
When your friends look so desperately,
Found the car but lost the keys!
Welcome to senility!
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 7:29 PM UTC
Melancholy is sitting in front of me
My man is hiding from me, hell yeah
I don't want to live that way anymore
'Cause yesterday I was a different person
Melancholy is holding my hands
My man is unware about me, hell yeah
I don't want to live that way anymore
Trying to hide my indecent past
I'm really trying, but it's harder than I thought
Every girl is like a mad gun
Have I gone mad?
I want to empty my home
I want to empty my life of Max
I will be wearing pink pyjamas
And listening to oldies
Melancholy is living in my neighbourhood
What should I do now?
I just wanna drink, hell yeah
Save me, my man!
Melancholy is knocking on my doors
Trying to escape, hell yeah
I'm really trying, but it's harder than I tought
Oh please don't drop me home, my man
Every girl is like a mad gun
Have I gone mad?
I want to empty my home
I want to empty my life of Max
I will be wearing pink pyjamas
And listening to oldies
Take me to your place, anywhere
I don't care anymore
I don't care
I don't care
I don't care
Every girl is like a mad gun
Have I gone mad?
I want to empty my home
I want to empty my life of Max
I will be wearing pink pyjamas
And listening to oldies
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Old movie stars have come and gone
Those films were there for everyone
Despite the passing of those times
Those talking pictures will always shine.
Those talking pictures have all come back
With ghosts of film stars from the past
They are still alive within our minds
Those talking pictures we rewind.
When looking at those bye gone days
Those talking pictures will always stay
The golden oldies that we all can see.
Are there and they will always be.
Those talking pictures stand the test of time
Deep within our hearts and minds
Those movie stars have come and gone
But those talking pictures will still live.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
*they are my famiglia
they are italian, polish and maltese,
probably a lot of other things too
we're basically mutts
there are five of us, if you include the dog
they are the best
there's my mom;
i call her "ma" or "woman" or "mom" or "mama" or "rochelle", if i want to irritate her
she's the best cook in the world
she always calls me her "bambina"
and sings me songs and writes me cute notes
she's my best friend and biggest fan (sorry dad)
i'm convinced she can read my mind,
even when i'm 2 1/2 hours away, she can tell when something's wrong
she's the best mom in the world
and then, there's my dad;
i call him "dad" or "daddy" or "bob" because he doesn't seem to care
he's hilarious and actually tells good dad jokes
he loves talking about
government conspiracies and
new health trends he's trying
he calls my mom just to say "i love you" and buys me flowers on valentine's day because "i want you to know what a man should do for you one day"
he's so great, i hope i marry a man like bob one day
and there's my brother;
i call him "bro" or "broski" or usually just, "bobby"
he loves me with all his heart
but cannot hug me
because his ocd clouds his mind
he's funny and loves the oldies
he also loves trips to chipotle with me
he won't tell me about girls
because "you'll tell mom," but will talk to me about everything else
gosh i love him with all my heart too
and there's my dog;
who we all call "boo" and sometimes i call him some random nickname
he's so cute, but super vicious
one minute he'll be curled up in-between your legs and the next?
he's attacking you and biting you in the lip
he's scared of thunderstorms and fireworks and people, really he's scared of everything
he's not perfect, but he loves me and i love him
and then, there's me;
they call me "dee-dee" or "aubs" or plain old, "aubrey"
i'm the first born pain in the ****
who's dream is to marry a nice christian man, own a cafe, adopt children, have children, and just have a great family
currently, i'm in college, missing my great family
my current dream would be, sitting on the couch with my dog on my lap, my mom cooking in the kitchen, my dad hanging out in the garage building something cool, and my brother playing video games and complaining about me taking over the bathroom we share.
can you tell i miss them?
can you tell i love them?*
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
You don't hear it much
My music, my muse
My soul was taken away
That's something big to lose
Contracts signed and sealed
Delivered...not to me
Money never came my way
Not a penny did I see
Follow the music and you will find
Musicians like me,
We all went and signed
Contracts worth nothing
Not to us, not a cent
Follow the money
And see where it went
We poured our emotions
Our hearts and our souls
We gave them our music
Which they all then stole
Producers, execs
all down the line
All made the money
On songs that were mine
I heard all the rumours
But, they must be wrong
Then I wrote and signed off
On another hit song
Follow the music and you will find
Musicians like me,
We all went and signed
Contracts worth nothing
Not to us, not a cent
Follow the money
And see where it went
I was not famous
But, there must be some sales
Just follow the money
From the bargain bin pails
Somebody, somewhere
Was raking it in
As companies folded
In the business of tin
Houses of cards
Fold and collapse on the floor
But, the money went somewhere
'Cause I'm still in the stores
Follow the music and you will find
Musicians like me,
We all went and signed
Contracts worth nothing
Not to us, not a cent
Follow the money
And see where it went
Somebody made out
Like a bandit with me
My albums still selling
From around sixty three
Just follow the money
And see where it goes
Into some execs houses
And some dj's nose
I'm too old to go
And do a oldies rock show
I'm always invited
But, I never will go
My voice is all raspy
And one thing's still wrong
I get paid for the singing
But, I don't own the song
I know that I made it
But I hate the sound
Of my music creations
That I sold by the pound
Every time that they surface
On late night FM
I know somebody else
Made cash off of them
Just follow the money
And then you will see
The thousands of others
Who were ripped off like me
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC