Art Is Dead Songtext

von Bo Burnham

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 under-
Standing or learning

That every day
Can't be about him
There's other people
You selfish ass hole

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 peoples 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-obsesed 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