Growing up behind the Iron Curtain, our world was closed off—gray, restricted, and starved of inspiration. Access to Western music was nearly impossible, but somehow, it found a way through. Rock—and especially punk—bled across the borders. From Yugoslavia’s slightly freer grip came vinyl records that were smuggled into the rest of the communist bloc, carrying the raw voice of rebellion with them.
Punk hit us hard. It was honest, loud, and most importantly—doable. Its simplicity gave us a way to express everything we felt in a system that allowed nothing. We were just a group of kids stuck in a crumbling regime with no future—but we had music, and we had each other. We formed a band and gave it everything we had.
Instruments were nearly impossible to get, so we played on whatever we could find—broken guitars, old radios turned into amps, buckets and cardboard boxes for drums. It wasn’t about gear—it was about spirit. About brotherhood. About survival.
Many of those friends are gone now. But their memory lives in every chord, every verse, every scream.
This video and track were created as a tribute—to them, and to those days.
The music is based on “The Kids Aren’t Alright” by The Offspring, with original lyrics written by Duduś—raw, honest, and straight from the heart.
The full story follows below.
“STREETS OF LOST CHANCES” – THE STORY OF THE SONG
It was the tail end of the last winter. Lesek sent Fattie a raw rehearsal recording from 2009 of the guys jamming. In the background vocals, Matet made a guest appearance… as if to say goodbye… he passed away shortly after that session. It was raw, imperfect – but full of punk soul. Then came the question: “Hey, can anything be done with this? Can we boost the quality?” Fattie, being who he is, jumped on it immediately. He separated the vocals, cleaned them up, enhanced the sound. And an idea started to take shape in his mind: re-record the rest of the tracks from scratch – keeping the vibe, but wrapping it in solid, fresh production. The Idea for a New Verse During the work, Lesek dropped this in a group chat with Fattie and Duduś: “Maybe we should add another verse? One about the others who are gone…” Fattie sketched out a draft, but when Duduś sent his version of the third verse, it was instantly clear. That was it. Real, powerful, no drama. Just honesty that hits you square in the chest. Building the New Version> Lesek kept feeding in ideas: “Add the bit where Duduś says ‘Matet is singing too’.” “Throw in that solo – right where he screams ‘SOLO!’ Fattie recorded, mixed, and fine-tuned the sound. Duduś laid down the vocals in one take – direct and with fire. Then came a few rounds of mix revisions, going back and forth across the Atlantic. Finally – a solo recorded by Fattie’s old, but still deadly fingers. And it was done. The mix was sealed. That’s How “Streets of Lost Chances” v.2025 Was Born The song is built on the melody of “The Kids Aren’t Alright”, with lyrics by Duduś – enriched by life, memories, and the people who are no longer with us. Matet in the backing vocals – a voice from the past still echoing with emotion. Duduś on lead – delivering lyrics that stick with you. Lesek, the driving spirit Fattie – pulled it all together, mixed, and assembled it right. This track is our musical monument. For those who are gone. For those who remember. For those who never got the chance. And for those who still play the old songs at night, staring into the fire thinking: “Those were the days…”
Zośka had her chance – now it’s just kids, pots, a husband Jobless for the third year, glued to TV, strong liquor in hand Falson cut his life short, Kojek overdosed, Rudy went with him The reality of these places feels like a nightmare There’s no chance of breaking free… Matet drank himself to death, Tamara’s gone too Pancer and Małpa rest in graves, Żaba has his cross now Dudziak – free as a bird, and others of us just moved on Living through love, fear – pushing upstream, against the wind No chance left… Let “Streets…” be a reminder of wild days, a reason to laugh through tears, a pretext for one more shared verse – around a fire, with a beer, to a rhythm that still lives. For Matet. For the rest. For us. PUNK NOT DEAD.
