Fuck 'em, Fuck 'em - The Lot Of 'em

Who needs one more tortured artist

Whingeing about the pain

Of being a creative genius

And the heavy burden of fame?

O! The struggles they have nightly

Let's them understand completely

The tragedy of Brett Whitely -

Shame they're more like Glenn Wheatly.

Here's an exhausted actor

Complaining about the shoot -

When we're all shovelling guano

For half the fucking loot -

And the life of top fashion models

Isn't all parties and glamour;

But it ain't so fucking great either

Working with a chisel and hammer.

Come, everybody, let's get together

And shout, "Well, hip hip hooray"

'Cos Sebastian the theatre director

Just put in another creatively draining day.

And, fuck me, let's fall over backwards

'Cos some snivelling rock star jerk

Calls snorting cocaine in a studio

The same thing that we all call "work".

Fuck 'em - fuck 'em, the lot of 'em -

You know, there's a harder job

Than being a creative genius -

It's being your garden style slob.

And going to work every morning;

And catching that peak hour train -

Two hours pushing a wheel barrow

Hurts more than metaphysical pain.

You want to understand Kafka

And his tortured soul, never at rest?

Forget about reading his novels -

Get a job like him: behind a desk.

Artists are beyond good and evil;

For them, morality is just crud -

There's a bouncer who thinks the same thing

When he's bashing heads down at the pub.

So put down those paints and brushes;

Give up your creative fight -

Die totally anonymous,

And teach your kids to be polite.