Right. I'm having some fun by writing a political punk EP to post on Fictionpress, touching on all the major themes of political punk: war, war, defamation, the environment, and the twisted notion that Vietnam Veterans are chemically-dependant maladjusted weirdos.

This legato project meets all the minimal requirements of political punk, composing the same asinine laundry list that serve as a prerequisite for joining the ranks of Rage Against The Machine and the Dead Kennedys. As you surely know, all one really

needs is a composition of rhyming multisyllabic words that compound with a synergistic effect, the ability to shrilly ejaculate said lyrics, and adroitly play a handful of guitar chords. Having accomplished these requisite tricks, my last remaining requirement is an EP album cover made of a standard "Bushitler" montage with this quote from Johnny Ramone marked out:

"To me, I think punk should be right wing. That's how I see it. The left wing is trying to destroy America by giving handouts to everyone and making everyone dependent on them. They only care about the voter base. They don't really care about anything else."

Only then can I draw in an audience of lackadaisical Che guevara-worshiping asinine Goth hippies and Robert Mugabe apologist communists.



Lay down your arms...

Hate isn't an ambition...

It's a feeling.

Don't involve others...

Don't be so self-involved...

Mind you logic, your heritage...

Of the Isle Empire one envied

This vile someone was a hun

For the dark realm he vied

For greed he used the gun

For evil he would dream

He believed by beating frank-

He would rise like cream-

And boost his Nation's rank!

In order to rule Paris-

And meet the Eastern bear-

The French he must embarrass-

And Baron must patrol air

Paris he could never sack...

Doughboys came to push him back!


C'mon! Whatcha want with that hill?

Whatcha want with bodies of those ya kill?

What good is oil ya spill?

Why blast those holes-

For bodies to fill?

Self defeating

Self deleting

Wars repeating

Deaths exceeding

Worth repeating,



One hill, one (land) fill

One hole?

New goal

Surely such an idea man can

Find a new goal.

3. Editing Trick

Petty extortion

You threaten a misquote

Enemy's career an abortion

Sinking his only boat

Editing trick

Now that's slick

You make me sick

Now hate my limerick!

4. Wild America

Wild America!

In the Midwest we bury ya!

We turn you inside-out, then back again

Line up twin steel from coast to coast

Held together with timber posts

Wild America!

Our old land is the same

Wolves and trees before we came

Miles from sheep, still we kill and maim

Defiled America!

What we've done is dire,

From the Caucus to Eire,

But that was prior, to

Our latest desire,

We'll pavement the quagmire

And restore

Wild America!

We're not ones to tire!


Reforested Eire!

A recycled tire!

Wild America!

Buffalo cattle!

Sabers rattle!

Canoe with a paddle

For Wild America

In God we trust…

To save America!

God now and forever bless America!

(rapped portion)

I never had asthma as a child

Back in the day America was wild

Oh! The air was mild

Turtles piled.

Eggs in the sand

Anywhere I go on this land

I find a corporate brand

Wrapped in a band

It's all I can stand

The uncaring hand

Couldn't get enough

Once you panned

All that golden stuff

A toxic cloud

Will be our collective handcuff

Then what are we?


Of a black slick called

The Pugit Sound?

Or lifeless ground?

Eschew the rhetoric

Of the lobbyists who smoke-screen it

Escalated the erudite promise

May Oklahoma air

Seep in your lungs

Not industrial dung!

5. A mess

Out with the malt

I'm back for some more

It's last call- back through the door

Gimme a jar, gimme a sink

It slows the hum

Now I can think

To the bartender I'm dumb

Shuts the tap on my binge

You know I hate the feel of a syrenge

Relief comes from pain

It's harder these days to find a vain

The cops flood the town

At least I miss the pouring rain

My shirts all a film

My skin's no longer brown

These days these aren't my downs

My skin is worn, my head is torn

I smell the sea, I hear a horn

I walk no, no liquor test

Found the garage, crash to rest

My mind is soup no more than poop

Radio plays free

Around me are sleeping groups

Mumbles in the same foolish loop

Old man with dictionary arks me to define


This is extraordinary

The fault of an orderly

Even more than Laos- it incrediable

What happens in a veteran's hospital!