Blank (Generation) Stare
Posted: Wed Oct 06, 2004 10:32 am
this may be a bit difficult to understand if you are not familiar with 1) the punk movement, and 2) modern pop culture "punk" music. but the free-form rant is always understood. hahahahaha.
Blank (Generation) Stare
Ah, you lazy punks
diet on pop culture of MTV attitude
you disturb the shit right out of me.
I saw a girl on the bus
torn-up black sweatshirt, the half-ass iron-on
(became a staple-on)
leopard skin something-or-other
multiple-pierced bleached hair
(bleach the mind)
torn jeans, I know your style
retro-metro-too-hard-to-be-hetero
then she puts the cell phone to her ear
and I ask why.
I saw a girl in a line, standing, waiting,
to be served
your fashionable excess of torn and tattered clothes
(probably purchased that way)
studs and duds, love
for patches and Christmas ornaments
you look like a child wrapped you as a gift
and what is it that you want?
Your spiked belach mowhawk in line, bitch
fora fucking coffee, ugh, coffee, probably
mocha-choke-a-crappa-frappa-latte, frothay, double
espresso with vanilla whip cream caramel
you fucking sicken me
Carry your bottled water I hope it tastes rich
you damn labelers of natural resources.
I bet your mother still does your laundry and
gives you an allowance.
I saw a dude decked by colorful name brands
his hair the color of money
his clothes the color of trend
his soul the color of air
his wild atrocities of fashion reeked of his
unattended desires of heroin-addled fame
he doesn't do it, but why not?
He's probably rich enough to afford it, along
with his college education.
Where is the worship of Lou Reed and the
Velvet Underground? I punked you out.
(There's your heroin, boys and girls)
And these Ramones T-shirts you wear, how cruel
you are to forget or deny
they invented nothing
The who? The Who
Rock's most conservative three-chord distorted
oldies rip-off Republicans were the Ramones.
Listen to them all you want, but Sheena,
you'll never be a punk rocker. I punked you out.
You've never heard the name Patti Smith and I
get ill. Go read a book, asshole. I punked you out.
You who worship Kurt Cobain I say you are
as bad as those who worship Christ. I punked
you out.
Take up the Leonard Cohen afterworld,
write a poem using only words you don't know,
look up the words in a dictionary,
then tell me what you think of yourself.
I punked you out.
These Good Charlatans you make my blood boil and
my saliva curdle an froth in rage.
To you who cite Green Day as a major musical
influence you make me feel old and curious as to
why you sound nothing like them. I punked you out.
To you who wear shades of black eye-makeup,
remember... Marc Bolan did it first. I punked
you out.
You are neither a sex nor a pistol, and even
Johnny Rotten's got a few choice words for ya.
If your mouth can't utter the name Pete Townshend
because your vocabulary is scarce, you are
worthless scum. I punked you out.
Your idea of a New York Doll is Avril Lavigne
(and the fact that I have been reduced to
mention her in a poem is disheartening)
AFI, you cheap-looking 1994 Marilyn Manson
rip-off. He is more punk than the nasal in your
throat. He punked you out.
New Found Glory is neither newfound nor glorious.
Just an upheld image image image image image
image image image image of a copy of a
Xerox of a replica of a carbon copy scan of
a stereotypical prototype. I totally just fucking
punked your bitch-ass out.
Where are the losers and scum of society that
are forced to sew and stitch cloth together
in order to stay warm? No bullshit safety-pin
fashion statement.
Where are these nomads? A tribe of Mowhawks
last seen pillaging the '70s with their Kinks
and their Fugs?
What does MC5 mean to you?
How is your relationship with Iggy and the Stooges?
Where is the lashing out against Disco?
You cannot follow a neo-punk movement that
holds strongly its stay on the pop charts when
its great lot in life was to help see its end.
That is my thesis.
Richard Hell rolls in his grave.
Blank (Generation) Stare
Ah, you lazy punks
diet on pop culture of MTV attitude
you disturb the shit right out of me.
I saw a girl on the bus
torn-up black sweatshirt, the half-ass iron-on
(became a staple-on)
leopard skin something-or-other
multiple-pierced bleached hair
(bleach the mind)
torn jeans, I know your style
retro-metro-too-hard-to-be-hetero
then she puts the cell phone to her ear
and I ask why.
I saw a girl in a line, standing, waiting,
to be served
your fashionable excess of torn and tattered clothes
(probably purchased that way)
studs and duds, love
for patches and Christmas ornaments
you look like a child wrapped you as a gift
and what is it that you want?
Your spiked belach mowhawk in line, bitch
fora fucking coffee, ugh, coffee, probably
mocha-choke-a-crappa-frappa-latte, frothay, double
espresso with vanilla whip cream caramel
you fucking sicken me
Carry your bottled water I hope it tastes rich
you damn labelers of natural resources.
I bet your mother still does your laundry and
gives you an allowance.
I saw a dude decked by colorful name brands
his hair the color of money
his clothes the color of trend
his soul the color of air
his wild atrocities of fashion reeked of his
unattended desires of heroin-addled fame
he doesn't do it, but why not?
He's probably rich enough to afford it, along
with his college education.
Where is the worship of Lou Reed and the
Velvet Underground? I punked you out.
(There's your heroin, boys and girls)
And these Ramones T-shirts you wear, how cruel
you are to forget or deny
they invented nothing
The who? The Who
Rock's most conservative three-chord distorted
oldies rip-off Republicans were the Ramones.
Listen to them all you want, but Sheena,
you'll never be a punk rocker. I punked you out.
You've never heard the name Patti Smith and I
get ill. Go read a book, asshole. I punked you out.
You who worship Kurt Cobain I say you are
as bad as those who worship Christ. I punked
you out.
Take up the Leonard Cohen afterworld,
write a poem using only words you don't know,
look up the words in a dictionary,
then tell me what you think of yourself.
I punked you out.
These Good Charlatans you make my blood boil and
my saliva curdle an froth in rage.
To you who cite Green Day as a major musical
influence you make me feel old and curious as to
why you sound nothing like them. I punked you out.
To you who wear shades of black eye-makeup,
remember... Marc Bolan did it first. I punked
you out.
You are neither a sex nor a pistol, and even
Johnny Rotten's got a few choice words for ya.
If your mouth can't utter the name Pete Townshend
because your vocabulary is scarce, you are
worthless scum. I punked you out.
Your idea of a New York Doll is Avril Lavigne
(and the fact that I have been reduced to
mention her in a poem is disheartening)
AFI, you cheap-looking 1994 Marilyn Manson
rip-off. He is more punk than the nasal in your
throat. He punked you out.
New Found Glory is neither newfound nor glorious.
Just an upheld image image image image image
image image image image of a copy of a
Xerox of a replica of a carbon copy scan of
a stereotypical prototype. I totally just fucking
punked your bitch-ass out.
Where are the losers and scum of society that
are forced to sew and stitch cloth together
in order to stay warm? No bullshit safety-pin
fashion statement.
Where are these nomads? A tribe of Mowhawks
last seen pillaging the '70s with their Kinks
and their Fugs?
What does MC5 mean to you?
How is your relationship with Iggy and the Stooges?
Where is the lashing out against Disco?
You cannot follow a neo-punk movement that
holds strongly its stay on the pop charts when
its great lot in life was to help see its end.
That is my thesis.
Richard Hell rolls in his grave.