Young Dennis bought a drum kit and he taught himself a beat,

his Father called it pendulous and bland,

two long-haired kids with new guitars who lived just up the street

decided it was cool and formed a band.

A punk piano player joined and things were looking good,

they practiced in a hall behind the shops,

and as their mutant metal sound clashed through the neighborhood

at least a dozen oldies called the cops.

The local hotel hired them for a "Beer & Bikies" night,

poor Dennis was so nervous - what a test!

but once he felt the spotlight he knew everything was right

and played his drums just like a man possessed.

They made a demo tape and sent it over to L.A.

and two days later several offers came,

so jumping on an airplane, they flew over straight away,

a contract signed that promised instant fame.

With Dennis drumming demon-like, and chords from Dantés Hell

their music was the latest, greatest thing,

they rode upon a living, pulsing, PR carousel,

and got the adulation hits can bring.

As Dennis wrote the songs his brain would whirl in blue and red,

the teenage angst flowed from his lyrics cup,

big hits like: "Killing Kittens" and "I'm Glad My Mother's Dead"

the kids could all connect, and lapped it up.

Then all too soon the lyrics turned to cliché, weak and stale,

he'd run right out of punky things to say,

the audiences turned away, the gigs began to fail,

they booed them off the stage in Monterey.

Returning home a has-been, Dennis parted with his chums,

his Father said the rock scene was for freaks,

so Dennis gave it up and got a refund on the drums...

Why not? He'd only had them for three weeks!!!

More of my FUNNY POEMS HERE