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Johnny Dodge & the 440s.

Johnny Dodge did have an imitator...

Despite his role as the catalyst for the entire punk writing movement, there is little in the way of extant manuscripts to show that Johnny Dodge—i.e., Samuel Dealey—was ever much of a writer. He is celebrated in punk history, it would seem, more for his skill as a warrior and for his apparently constant loyalty to the various kings of Punk City. Much as it overstates the glamour and significance of the punk community, there is an obvious, perhaps even self-conscious, analogy between Johnny Dodge and the Lancelot of Arthurian myth. Like many others, Johnny Dodge is rumored to have been in love with the unwedded queen of Punk City, Alice Hate, and if St. Nuke may be compared, however risibly, to King Arthur, the first king’s roundtable of punk motorcycle knights could never have been established without the strong right arm of Johnny Dodge, who fought on St. Nuke’s behalf when the king was too crippled by wounds to fight for himself, who tried to throw his own body between St. Nuke and the assassin who slew him, who single-handedly avenged the king’s murder, and who ensured the continuity of Punk City by lending his support to Kobra Jones, St. Nuke’s successor. Interestingly, Johnny Dodge is perhaps the only punk to be associated with a place of origin, i.e., New Jersey, which makes him, like Lancelot, the outlander in what is otherwise a local story. Also like Lancelot, Johnny Dodge is reputed by legend to have died in the battle that ended his kingdom, which makes poor illiterate Sam Dealey the most prominent punk to have endured for the whole of Punk City’s history, such as it was. With respect to the early punk piece here included, it should be noted that the automotive theme is consistent with the legendary image of Johnny Dodge as a South Jersey motorhead. The “440,” incidentally, was a large V-8 engine produced by the Chrysler Corporation. An overpowered gas hog, it was already obsolete at the time this piece was written, and it is now as extinct as the punks of South Street.


I want to say one thing.

 Lay some rubber, get away. 440s go, boomers stay.

I just want to say one thing.
4  Some night you’ll be out walking, maybe with your girl, and it’ll be dark like on those streets between Headhouse and the  Ritz where those cute little houses are that cost a hundred grand, and you’ll be all dressed up and thinking everything’s just fine—and then you’ll hear me.
5  You’ll hear me coming.

Lay some rubber, get away. 440s go, boomers stay.

It’ll be a funny kind of noise, something you didn’t hear for ages.
8  Kind of a rumbling howl that’ll echo off the bricks and seem like it’s coming from around the corner or from nowhere, straight out of nowhere at all.
9  And that noise’ll be my 440, revving up.

Lay some rubber, get away. Time to go, boomers stay.

And it won’t be like no  four banger Krautmobile, or some Swedish diesel living room on wheels.
12  It’ll be like power, man, mean and deep and all around, like what’s gone for good but good and mad and coming home.
13  And you’ll be standing there, all alone in the dark, not knowing why 440 cubes are firing right at you.
14  But why won’t matter. Not at all.

Lay some rubber, make your play. 440s go, boomers stay.

And I only got one thing to say.
17  One night you’ll be out walking, and I’ll be on my way. And you can’t stop me.
18  Your Gucci loafers can’t stop me.
19  Your Jordache jeans can’t stop me.
20  Your  American Express Card can’t stop me.
21  Your Sony Betamax can’t stop me.
22  Your Club Med vacation can’t stop me.
23  Your Calvin Klein whore can’t stop me.
24  Can’t nothing stop me or my 440.

Lay some rubber, say goodbye. 440s go, boomers die.

For the most fun, play the audio file WHILE you're watching this.

posted at   10:08 am  by  InstaPunk
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