The music record industry bled you dry
The motor city bent your back
And you never wondered why
The Motown production line
Took its steady toll
And bent your willing spine
They sucked your precious blood
Prospered from your royalties
As you trudged home forgotten through the mud
They scoffed and dug you a hole
But their grimy fingers and derision
Could never reach your soul
At last you have returned home
Your free spirit wanders
With others but still alone
