Who needs one more tortured artist
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Whingeing about the pain
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Of being a creative genius
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And the heavy burden of fame?
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O! The struggles they have nightly
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Let's them understand completely
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The tragedy of Brett Whitely -
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Shame they're more like Glenn Wheatly.
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Here's an exhausted actor
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Complaining about the shoot -
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When we're all shovelling guano
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For half the fucking loot -
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And the life of top fashion models
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Isn't all parties and glamour;
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But it ain't so fucking great either
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Working with a chisel and hammer.
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Come, everybody, let's get together
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And shout, "Well, hip hip hooray"
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'Cos Sebastian the theatre director
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Just put in another creatively draining day.
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And, fuck me, let's fall over backwards
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'Cos some snivelling rock star jerk
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Calls snorting cocaine in a studio
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The same thing that we all call "work".
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Fuck 'em - fuck 'em, the lot of 'em -
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You know, there's a harder job
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Than being a creative genius -
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It's being your garden style slob.
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And going to work every morning;
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And catching that peak hour train -
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Two hours pushing a wheel barrow
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Hurts more than metaphysical pain.
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You want to understand Kafka
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And his tortured soul, never at rest?
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Forget about reading his novels -
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Get a job like him: behind a desk.
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Artists are beyond good and evil;
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For them, morality is just crud -
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There's a bouncer who thinks the same thing
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When he's bashing heads down at the pub.
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So put down those paints and brushes;
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Give up your creative fight -
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Die totally anonymous,
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And teach your kids to be polite.
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-----------------
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Fuck ¡¯Em Fuck ¡¯Em - The Lot Of ¡¯Em
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TISM |