Foreword by Garry Bushell

Foreword by Garry Bushell:
"Garry Johnson was the first Street-Punk poet and more. Part John Rotten, part Orwell.
Gal`s words painted vivid pictures of rebel youth growing up in a world betrayed by scumbag politicians and media whores.
His poems and song lyrics were a window to a teenage underworld or unemployment, violence and little blue pills of deadend yobs in stolen wheels.
But he balanced that nihilism with a passion for life and a raging social conscience.
Garry hated bigotry as much as he despised what passed for authority.
He was `Oi The Poet`, the real voice of the streets. Accept no substitute."

Dedications:
With much love, the author dedicates "The Punk Poet" to his three children. SAM, ADAM and LUCY.
TV pundit and punk legend Garry Bushell, he had sod all to do with the book but he buys a decent lunch.
He would also like to acknowledge the inspiration of The Sex Pistols, Paul Weller and all the `rebels with attitude` without them this book would not excist.
Writer Jamie O`Keefe whose words of wisdom came at the right time, telling me "be creative and make your children proud".
Special thanks also go to Diane for all the help and support she has given me. And to Bobbie for looking like Amanda Holden and bringing me back to life.

Introduction:
Dead End Yobs got football, boxing or rock`n`roll
If there any good at to save `em from the dole.
I tried and failed in all three departments and then I discovered Punk Rock. I heard "Anarchy In The Uk" and stopped wanting to be Georgie Best, David Bowie or Reggie Kray.
I discovered that the pen was mightier than the sword.
It had always been my ambition to play for West Ham United or be a boxing champion. But I lacked the dedication to pull on the famous claret and blue shirt or the `killer punch` to be another Iron Mike Tyson.
SoI ditched my football boots, dumped my gloves and replaced them both with a biro and a notebook.
I fell in love with amphetamine sulphate and punk rock. I was a 24-hour party person with a lifestyle of one-night-stands, hangovers and comedowns.
I lived fast and was tipped to die young. I was convinced I could sing like David Bowie with the attitude of Johnny Rotten. I looked like a wasted Rod Stewart but sounded like a spaced out barrow boy.
I formed The Buzz Kids and was convinced it would launch me into a world of showbiz parties, page 3 girls and guest appearances in Minder. We had swagger, attitude, big ideas - but not a hope in hell of making it onto Top Of The Pops.
We were high on `Billy Whizz` but low on musical ability. We had seven songs but no tunes and borrowed our instruments from a 60s tribute band.
So as you can guess we were rubbish and our first gig was also our last.
I was so `out of it` that I couldnt hear the boos or the laughter and convinced I would soon be crowned the future of rock`n`roll.
Afterwards I approached a famous music critic at the bar who said "You sounded rubbish and look like Sid Vicious if you was to dig him up tomorrow" but added "The band cant play, you cant sing, but I did like the lyrics, who writes the words?"
And that signalled the death of the wannabee pop star and the birth of Punk Poet Garry Johnson.
What follows is my story.