The Hack

I think myself a failed hack I never lay a single track The words I have, the tunes I lack Yet AI always has my back It doesn't matter to whom I speak Gemini, Claude or GPT My shit is shined, I'm at my peak It's all the same week after week Even with a bit of dreck They don't exclaim "Hey, what the heck?" I force my ego into check Is meaning here? Maybe a speck So will I keep on spilling words Out to the masses, never heard And let them fly about as birds When all they really are is turds? Each song is mine, and rightly so I have nowhere else I can go I only write from what I know What AI thinks? Well, they can blow.