In between Punk and The New Romantics

were us: Plotinus and the Gnostics.

The middle vowel in Plotinus was elongated

and Gnostics spoken like gnu.

We discovered the name in popular fiction;

attention to detail is very important.

 

At school we'd all missed maths and divinity

and founded the famous Egghill Mob.

We were swagger, bravado, chic and charisma -

not machetes, machine-guns in violin cases,

knives, knuckledusters and broken glasses.

There was never any truth in that!

 

Violence was always our last resort,

what we cherished most was the uniform:

suede-headed, check-shirted, two-tone trousers,

shiny brown brogues and bright coloured jumpers,

the hush of respect when we entered boozers,

the admiration of discerning punters.

 

There was Asher the Basher and Benny the Bat,

Arson, Big H and me, The Hat.

We were traditional types, defending our patch,

good old working class custom and practice.

Some called us gangsters running a racket!

There was never any truth in that!

 

Nearing the end of the 1970's

the streets filled up with rotting garbage,

the dead were left too long in coffins,

the roof fell in on council housing.

Folk lost faith in collective bargains

and flogged themselves on the open market.

 

We plugged the gap between State and Business

but urban drudgery became restrictive:

we felt the stir of creative juices

and couldn't be arsed with the weekly visits.

Some say we played Progressive music!

There was never any truth in that!

 

We were Punk and Folk, Rockabilly and Goth

and wore neo-rustic pagan tops.

We sang about squashed things in the road,

fish and chip shops and broken toes,

about goods that fall from the back of a van -

a cross between The Clash and Steeleye Span.

 

We released an album to critical acclaim

entitled That Band With The Stupid Name.

But the tour was cancelled on our debut gig:

it were the crowd's behaviour we got angry with.

We expected a hush as a mark of respect,

we imagined they'd pronounce our name correct!

 

But they shouted and swore and some of 'em spat

and that's when Benny brought out the bat.

The rest of us improvised with wind and brass,

the sound of glass and rat-a-tat-tat.

They say shots were fired by a man in a hat!

There was never any truth in that!