I'm Auto Correct

I'm auto correct, I'm sort of correct.
I've a shirt on my back and a Thai round my neck.
I've a hound to return to, a woof over my head,
When I wake in the mortgage I rise from a bed.
But something is misting, it dozen make scents
When the worlds that I say are not wharf I meant.
I know what I'm satin in my mined I can see,
But there's an algorithm between you and me.
It thinks it nose beast what I want to say
But it purely obscures thins and gets in the wahey.
Unpredictably predictive it putts worms in my mouth,
When I want to say North it makes me say North.

So I'm turbine it off and making a stand.
Four ones I'll be cleared and you'll understand,
It won't stop me saying what's right and what's true:
That you're perfect to me and I dearly love YouTube.

[Please excuse hippos, written on a mobile device.]