still my songs

forty years ago and yet my songs are praised
though I got cheated of the raise
two english prides
one died
and the other yet lies
got their checks for free
instead of performing for me
the fame that escaped
from the rat race
still I am the writer
the lyrical empire
tried and convicted of  a life that wasn't theirs
should be the fate of their falde pairs
taken bread from my table
and starving me to near death
they should have instead been in my debt
and I could have supplied more songs to them all of my life
instead of a take out that isn't my write
the life's that led against my involvement
didn't have any power of problems to solve with
an honest future
and a real man's tutor
still I live praised
of the songs I still raised
in my heart my soul
I am still attached to still my songs fame
even if the credit they deceive
my babies my songs were still birthed from me