Selling out ?

Rock means nothing anymore,

every artist a corperate whore.

The gig is fucking twenty quid,

policed by bullies in high viz.

Organisers think its grand,

snatching money from your hand.

So they shut our clubs

and smash our parties.

Whats the point in being an artist ?

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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