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