Punkís not dead yet.


I got this philosophy, man.

That if you hang around long enough, even if you ainít got a lot of talent, people will accept you.

All you got to do is survive.

This is not just about partying any more.

I did that back in the 1970s when I loved rock.

Sure, these are the 1980s and people say Punk is dead.

I think itíll come back and Iíll be here when it does.

Sure, I miss the old days before the big breakup, when we used to play to packed houses.

We had one hell of a band back then.

This Christmas we had three people and two of them were bartenders.

But if I hear someone beg us to play The Doors once more time, Iíll be playing Jail House Rock for murdering them.

I miss the chicks, too.

We donít get the quality in gals we used to get.

Now theyíre either too old or too young, and I donít figure on going to jail for no 16 year oldís blow job, so I take the old broads and think of better times past and future.

We ainít as good as we used to be either. But with Punk I figure we donít have to be.

Give people a dose of Romones and theyíll roll over for you.

The problem is: I canít wait too long for it all to come back.

Iím staring to see wrinkles in the mirror and blood in my pee. I figure if Punk donít come back quick, I might not be here when it does.

I never figured I would live forever, but Iíd like to live long enough to really rock again.

If rockís dead, then Iíll have to take some blame for killing it.

But you canít kill Punk, even with a hammer.

You only kill the messenger.

People like me.



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