Krinks

Who’s the old cat at the front of the pack?
Pickled face & the hunchback
Looks like a pub conspiracy theorist.
Faux-boho, unconvincing communist
Moving like a joker, caught in a tryst -
With no one.
No one or nothing but the music
Here for the purists

(it’s me!)

Just wanted to clarify that at the end. Writing in the third person is the kind of hateful w*** that really grinds Krinks’s gears, but you gotta play the game these days. It’s a shame. I used to just play (nice, like that one). I was there for the music, the people, the sounds and the room. Not the selfies, scoop-necks, clicks and tags. The hats and the chains and the effing shades inside. What the WTF!?

But that was then and this is now. You’re bearing witness to a digital brush up courtesy of my PR guru, Mark, dusting me off for the 21st century. So here I am, you can follow me at ‘at Krinks’ apparently, and if you haven’t already blown your brains out from this contemptible guff, you can also (can you believe it?) listen to my music. Rack it up.. it’s here! [can you put an arrow sign here Mark? Cheers].