Punk Rocker

I see you at shows, slamming into the crowd,
Your blue mohawk, oddly in place amongst your friends.

Your ripped jeans and tattered Vans are more than just a fashion.
To you it's life.

The feeling you get when you don your studded jacket and mosh to the sounds of Anti-Flag get you high.
        (Higher than the dope you shoot into you arm)

You live your life as if it were a scene from SLC Punk,
Or a Ramones lyric.

Can Jello Biafra do any wrong?


You try to fight the system, to fuck the man.
You'd rather die than bray along with the rest of the sheep.

And still, in your own irony you bray with your own.
Eventually you will cut your hair, trade your jeans for a suit...

And let your ideals and that wonderful feeling fade
Into nothing but a yellowed photograph of what you used to be.

An anarchist evolved (or maybe devolved)
into a a quiet conservative businessman

And you'll tell your children to avoid the kids with the blue mohawks and the ripped jeans.