Thinking back to my days as a crust punk
It was cans everyday before I smoked skunk
Looking back can’t imagine what she thought, mum
I smoked, screamed, pierced myself and battered drums
All my mates over all the time doing what they couldn’t
At home, always people explored shadows they normally wouldn’t
Around me, in this sense I am satan’s sudden student
Said don’t need no education but I’m not the type to bunk
In Ireland we call it mitching, tell you true I never played truant
That game I never played through it, I did do it though
Leaving school, true to my word there, they’re all fools
Drooling on desks, whole thing an out of control April Fool
I rue a man to put a rule on me, do one man, judge ruling on me
Midway through fifth year I elected to leave, selected my reprieve and none could refuse me
I worked in my dad’s while my mates went to school, few quid for the pocket, mostly for booze
The rest I spent on looking punk as fuck, bulletbelts getting delivered bulk
I had more anger in me, and more rips in my clothes, than incredible Hulk
Carry No Banners from Galway became Cut The Reins, went Galway a lot
Lovely spot but cut the rains
At the Spanish Arch drinking cans all day
They call this place ambition’s grave
Nightlife to rave about, suddenly you’re fifty and never got out
Use the old sessioners as a lesson on what not to be, less than pensioners but close
These licentionnaires with greying hair at college parties plying wares
Only kiss they get result of double dares.
Spent plenty hard cash perfecting my look
Moon in Leo outlook, out with the old room for my new look
Never out unless looking good, flooded with looks my bulk
Onlookers audibly say fuckkkkkkk, like The Wire’s Bunk
I only cared about being the punkest punk, no giving fucks
More binfrequenting than local fox
Some shouldn’thavesent in sentbox.
Everyday in full costume like an habitual monk
The way you do when you’re young
I wrote punk’s dead in marker on my sleeveless parka shirt from army surplus
I had a navy nike hat with an immortal patch on, buckle had rust
Never saw it again when I left it on a Greyhound Galwaybound GoBus
Frayed with wearing, greyed with caring, grade unerring it was my A hat
I had studs and metal bits glued onto all my jackets
Nothing flair lacking
Nothing’s fair that age
Started using red dax wax to sculpt my hair into liberty spikes
Until my top tips signalled to the rising moon like IRA pikes
No rules except what to think, wear, listen to and how to act
Didn’t realise I was signing a pact, I’m listening to Filthpact
Crusties barely wash after enacting the No Showers Act of 10 years back
Their baggy clothes are filth packed
Like wallowing pigs they’re filth backed
At crust gigs no pints are sold
It’s bold but might get one water to pour in a six pack
Posh father daughters playing at homeless, LATFO lmao
Caught between a rock and NWOBHM, more piss smell than OTO
Bake sale
Pit hair like lichens sprouting my cut off Amebix merchandise
Dreads dirt-caked, Latvian army boots in bad shape, looking like piltdown man
They shout crust as fuck existence in can-strewn Cabra kitchens
They form bands called Nuclear Axe Wound or Mandatory Deexistence
No distance between bands, scene is small and incestuous
Every second punk kid here attended Wesley, half played rugby
Dad’s in the ministry like Weasleys, but they’re punx see
Purposely didn’t take their pocket money, funds beneath their dignity
Rather play for beers, be dirty and have nits, playing on the streets
Dirty knees kid calls himself a magpie, watches train hopping documentaries
A total crock those demo tracks you sent to me, 4 track ra-punk
Shit be the scent of me, all kak perfume, two birds and eighty blokes per show
Lops off locks and let grease wind dreadlocks, acquire shocking forehead stick and pokes
Squat the world, he jokes, his dad’s place is on millionaire’s row
Fucked up at the front of the show, milling elbows
Dreadlocks like a dingleberry lasso
Buckfast purple lips and unwashed teeth on show
Your uncle has a spare rolex, everything gold like butter
Your patch says train robber, another says cradle2gutter
You all absolutely deserve each other.
Hanging around the closest we have to train tracks
Pretending you’re leatherclad raiders outta Mad Max
Spent my inheritance on cans, family won’t see me again
Until I’m in dire need of a lend, I also attend Christmas and holidays
Driving mammy around the bend, arrived for Thanksgiving dressed like a Fallout raider
They have saved up but secluded my money until I grow up, few years finding myself
Finally settle into a position at Dad’s firm, dad’s firm on this decision, I’m binding myself
To his millions.
Yes me boys that’s me gone, striking out west goodbye Muirsin Durkin.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment