This Ain’t No Picnic from the album Double Nickels on the Dime Minutemen, SST Records/USA (1984)
Working on the edge, losing my self-respect for a man who presides over me, the principles of his creed. Punch in punch out 8 hours 5 days a week, sweat, pain and agony – on Friday I’ll get paid.
This ain’t no picnic.
Hey mister don’t look down on me for what I believe – I got my bills and the rent. I should go pitch a tent but our land isn’t free, so I’ll work my youth away in the place of a machine. I refuse to be a slave
None of the people I used to go to shows with want to come out on a weeknight anymore so I drove out alone, drank an espresso, and figured I’ll run into people I know eventually and I’m good at having a good time solo as it is and was amused by the woo girls bragging about their whiskey consumption before watching my favorite non-Minor-Threat band from my Kent years when I was drinking tea while everyone else was drinking Natty Light.
watched local dudes be awesome, ran into some fellow Parmastanis including an old friend who brought his kids to their first show ever, ended up in the pit with my ex-bandmate’s roommate in the front singing along the whole night.
I haven’t gotten such an adrenaline rush from a show for a long time. I don’t tend to like the nostalgia act thing but I have crazy respect for people who are still writing music and doing their thing and don’t seem to be phoning it in.
Drove back to the west side with the windows down, Bad Brains in the CD player, savoring the night air cooling me down after the sweatiness, knowing that I would wake up sleepy, go to work and function in normal world, with a lot of bruises today but that it’s still worth it and it’s a beautiful thing.
This was the mall we went to when I was a kid, where none of my friends wanted to go, where I bought my first mallpunk belts and loitered in the food court on lunchbreak during Christmas temp jobs of retail hell.