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Punk as Fuck

by K. Kylyra Ameringer

Yo, baby, it's my thing

pure punk attitude;

anger edged with malice

and sheathed in irony.

I may run right over you

but it ain't nothin' personal, dude,

I am just a steam roller

a 40 foot monster truck

a behemoth of cool, yeah.

I'm so punk

I ain't got to listen

to the Pixies or Ramones,

Descendents or Fugazi;

I ain't got to dress

in the leg splayed fashion

of punk made proper by GQ or Cosmo;

don't need no mohawk

or blue tinted hair,

don't have to puncture

my nose

my lip

my brow

my tongue,

don't have to tat myself up

or dread out,

don't need to hang on the corner

sayin' nothin' but dude all day, dude.

Yeah, I am punk as fuck!

So punk I am anti-punk;

dig it.

I can pass through

cultural curtains

and shower the dry establishment ground

with my droplets of chaos.

I can squeak out and button up

enough to make your momma think I'm a nice girl

enough to get by, get by

but never be a real Barbie doll.

I'm your punk double agent, baby

working to throw a wrench

into the machinations of man

from inside the clockworks

just to enjoy the boooom

when their minds burst apart.

And that includes you, dude.

Put me in a room of punks

and I will crumple their tin can minds

with Beethoven and Mozart,

give me the religious right

so I can play devil's advocate,

I eat yuppies for breakfast

put hippies in the bin

I sugar coat acerbic wit

and make you say,

'yeah, I like it'

even when you know

by swallowing it whole

you're cutting your own head off.

How punk is that?

So don't get in my face

with your store ripped jeans

clean black and white Chuckies

your freshly fudged hair

and diamond stud nose ring

tellin' me

what you think punk is

'cause I live it, baby.

I breathe it.

I am it.

Yeah, punk as fuck.