Our yesteryear

Youngster's fear, turned to dust

Just then. We discovered punk,

we dunked our souls

unlikely society trolls, we were individuals

residuals, no modern comparison

An Oliver's army garrison, we fought back

dressed in black, moved by the beat,

leather booted feet stomped the city.

what a pity, Johnny Rotten died

We cried, while out of reach

On Rockaway Beach, downtown Queens

We've seen, in your face, the hatred

Our music was sacred, not merely Damned,

It was crammed with attitude

You’re screwed, yet unaware

We don’t care; you were zeros

There are No More Heroes.

The Beatles were gone, and so too were the Stones

We had Joey Ramone, Blondie, and The Clash

We were brash, anarchists on the streets

We’d meet, leather-clad

And mad, at this world

That unfurled before us

The fuss, we then created

We devastated the norm

We were sworn to a teenage dream

our riffs unclean, drums crashed

The Clash, London’s Calling

London’s Calling, to the Youth

No more truth to old man's lies

We flew fresh winds

those sins were your sins

No wins, whilst crossing the Dixie line

Following Sham 69, those Kids were united

Your world’s blighted, going nowhere

So unfair, you ruined it

Try undoing it, fix it

Mix it up, make it clean

God save the Queen.

We said We Don't Like Mondays,

or Sundays, or any day

whatever way, it's our journey

Need an attorney, ‘oldster’

we don't bolster your dreams

it seems you never supported ours,

many hours, we've sought direction

no connection, no understanding,

just demanding, that we follow your route

into suits, from short pants

We’re not sycophants, we’re dreamers,

not teamsters. We have a place.

our space, underground, not alone

With Tommy Gun, Teenage lobotomy

Never forgot to be, we were,

Holidaying in Cambodia.

A phobia for disco or rock slush

We got a rush, from the Stranglers

and other danglers, of anarchy that were

Hanging on the telephone.

Iggy popped,

he never stopped

We ripped it to shreds,

the Kennedys were dead

Posted inside my locker door

Sheena the rocker whore

Debbie Harry there in my heart

I thought we would never part

Yet we moved on in such a rush

This scene eclipsed by Miss Catherine Bush