The Art Creep is Dead

The art creep is dead
His name was Fred
He hanged himself from a gallery wall
In a decolonising biennial
He was the lone bobo
The great white fail
Cos he failed to victimise or collectivise
So they sent him up to the big art jail

And I'd like to say
Of the many characters I play
The art creep never was really anything like me in any way
Anyway

The art creep is dead
His name was Fred
After one too many guilty biennials he simply said
"This world is sad
The good times I've had
Don't sit well
With the punitive agendas of curators who
Run this world

And I'd like to say
Of the many characters I play
The art creep never was really anything like me in any way
Anyway

The art creep is dead
Mourned by none
Torn to shreds for all the insensitive things he's done
He stole that beat from the Shinto shrine
Did a stupid dance and passed it off as his own
And he stared at the festival maidens
With heteronormative lust in his heart

And I'd like to say
Of the many characters I play
The art creep never was really ever anything like me in any way
Anyway

The art creep is dead

And if he'd been a lesbian Indonesian
Who can say? He might still be
There to see today...

And I'd like to say
To clarify
He's just one of the horrible characters I play
Not me in any way
The art creep is dead