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