This next song, honestly, is not funny at all
But, uh, it helps me sleep at night
Art is dead
Art is dead
Art is dead
Art is dead
Entertainers like to seem complicated
But we're not complicated
I can explain it pretty easily
Have you ever been to a birthday party for children?
And one of the children
Won't stop screaming
'Cause he's just a little attention attractor
When he grows up
To be a comic or actor
He'll be rewarded
For never maturing
For never understanding or learning
That every day
Can't be about him
There's other people
You selfish asshole
I must be psychotic
I must be demented
To think that I'm worthy
Of all this attention
Of all of this money, you worked really hard for
I slept in late while you worked at the drug store
My drug's attention, I am an addict
But I get paid to indulge in my habit
It's all an illusion
I'm wearing make-up
I'm wearing make-up
Make-up, make-up, make-up, make
Art is dead
So people think you're funny
How do you get those people's money?
Said art is dead
We're rolling in dough
While Carlin rolls in his grave
His grave, his grave
The show has got a budget
The show has got a budget
And all the poor people way more deserving of the money
Won't budge it
'Cause I wanted my name in lights
When I could have feed a family of four
For forty fucking fortnights
Forty fucking fortnights
I am an artist, please God forgive me
I am an artist, please don't revere me
I am an artist, please don't respect me
I am an artist, you're free to correct me
A self-centered artist
Self-obsessed artist
I am an artist
I am an artist
But I'm just a kid
I'm just a kid
I'm just a kid, kid
And maybe I'll grow out of it
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