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