I went to Sunset Junction on Sunday and while I found headliners The Cramps to be quite boring, I was truly moved by the hellbilly thrash of Hank III. So much so, I wrote a poem about it, called I Love Your Death Metal. I think it's rather good.
I love your death metal. / Your square chin and bloodied cheek. /Your cunt in my country, / Your dick in my dixie / And your middle finger in my face, /Full of grace.
Round and round, you swing your hair - / A high-speed propeller in the air. / Then - you stop and stare. / "Eat. Fuck. Kill," you growl, "EAT. FUCK. KILLLLL." / (Which makes perfect sense to me / 'Cause we're all animals, you see.)
D'you think your grandpa would be proud? / Or would he say "son, it's too loud"? / And your daddy – / Does he cover his ears? / Curl his toes and lock up his guitar, / Wonderin' why his boy went too far?
Do you think about him, crushed in a car? / Is that why, my friend, is that why? / Is that why you scream instead of cry? / Nashvillian pain, passed on down the chain - / How much did you have to endure / To sing death metal songs so pure?
Get the ICYMI: Today's Top Stories Newsletter Our daily newsletter delivers quick clicks to keep you in the know
Catch up on the day's news and stay informed with our daily digest of the most popular news, music, food and arts stories in Los Angeles, delivered to your inbox Monday through Friday.