The Musical


I am Punk, child of the Greasers.

It's "in" to be out:

Out of my old man's house

Out of work

Out of touch with the crap

And stupid ways I didn't learn in school.

School and teachers both stink after three days.


Glory be to my hero,

To James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause.

James taught me what I already know:

How to be cool,

That Heaven is Hell,

That Hell is Heaven.

Like water finding the easiest way around a problem,

I scorn a challenge.


Lately I've taken to rings:

To rings up and down my ears,

To rings through my brow and lip,

To a gold ring on the tip of my nose.

My red, fluorescent hair and abundant rose tattoos

Cause well-earned stares and boos

From creeps like you who wear clean clothes.

"Get out a my face, Jerk."


If I question my choices, my values,

Once again I am assured

by Grease and

by a hundred, go-to-hell performers

That I am right.


Who's makiní da money?

Do people pay to see your inane,

Church-on-Sunday world?




Sandy, you and I both know where it's at.


© Allen Hackworth 2000