Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song haikus/sonnet/shakespeare, artist - Bo Burnham. Album song Words Words Words, in the genre
Date of issue: 18.10.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Comedy Central
Song language: English
haikus/sonnet/shakespeare |
We’ve been doing a lot of laughing |
Which is good, uh, for a comedy show on a comedy CD, but what we haven’t been |
doing is a lot of thinking |
And I’d like to do that now, I’ve written some haikus |
Haikus are Japanese poems consisting of 17 syllables, three lines |
Five, seven, five |
And I find them to have a certain |
Philosophical construct, there’s a certain, uh |
Soundness in their simplicity, a clearness in their cogency, if you will |
So hopefully what we’ll do right now is read these haikus, think for a bit |
And then when we go back, uh, to the |
You know, the jokes and the laughing |
They’ll have benefited, uh, from the time we took to think |
So um, you guys just sit back and indulge me and just think for a bit and then |
we’ll go back to the jokes |
Uh, can I get some blue light to set the mood? |
Perfect |
For those of you listening on CD, the lights didn’t change which made it funny |
I saw a rainbow |
On the day my grandma died |
Fuckin' lesbian |
(Ding) |
For fifteen cents a |
Day you can feed an African |
They eat pennies |
(Ding) |
Old peoples' skin sags |
Because it’s being pulled toward |
The underworld |
(Ding) |
Do unto others |
As you would have them do to you |
Said the rapist |
(Ding) |
My aunt used to say |
Slow and steady wins the race |
She died in a fire |
(Ding) |
Even if he is |
Your friend, never, ever call |
An Asian person |
(Ding) |
And finally |
Bono, if you want |
To help poor people, sell your |
Tinted shades, you cunt |
(Ding) |
Thank you, this next piece is called «Sonnet 155», or «If Shakespeare Had |
Written a Porn», and it goes like this |
I saw the morning dew betwixt thine thighs |
As I removed my source of Grecian power |
As if King Midas dared to touch the skies |
Upon thy body fell a golden shower |
Thy body’s temples, two church bells had rung |
Upon thy chest, a row of pearls bestowed |
The sun had set, thy set with wary hung |
I thought, «How black a night and blue a lode» |
I said, «What light through yonder beaver breaks? |
It is the yeast» |
And now my belly’s yellow |
My pole gives cause to storms and earthy quakes |
But 'tis not massive, I am no Othello |
And when that final moment came to pass |
Like Christ I came-a riding on an ass |
Thank you very much |
William Shakespeare, uh |
William Shakespeare was a verbal cun-tortionist |
He could bend his words in the way a contortionist bends his frame without hope |
that he could with a name like William Shakespeare |
William Shakespeare, some, some of you seem lost, look |
Say your name was Robert Frost and you couldn’t write, that would suck |
Well, I guess you could always go as Bobby Frost and own an ice cream truck |
He was balanced like a simile and could stack metaphor five, six at a time and |
rhyme into the very last line of a soliloquy which finally said outright with a |
previous 77 rolling hinting at |
He had puns and quips and tons of trips of sons with ships with nuns with hips |
and buns and lips, but I had something that Shakespeare never had |
Penicillin |
See, it hadn’t been invented yet, back then they only had «quill"-icillin |
Hey, it’s not that hard, bard |
I’m sorry, I got a bone to pick with you, William |
So if you could just listen up here and listen to this theater queer’s theater |
query here and maybe act like a real artist for once in your life |
Say Van Gogh, and |
Lend me your ear |
You’re not a writer |
You’re a writer like fucking Hulk Hogan’s a street fighter |
You write these dramas |
You accumulate your wealth |
You hold nature as to a mirror of yourself |
Just because you’re messed up doesn’t mean we are too |
Just because you want to bang your mom doesn’t mean Danish princes do, what |
Who? |
Yeah, Hamlet, Shakespeare, that’s right, the young prince whose father |
died at the hands of his uncle with whom his mother lied, sound familiar? |
It’s the fucking Lion King |
You stole from a Disney movie, you androgynous douche, what’s next |
The story of a French king on a quest to find his lost son, Nemo? |
Oh, and by the way, poetic talent is really easy to fake when thy sentences |
doth no fucking sense make |
«To be, or not to be |
That is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and |
arrows of outrageous fortune |
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them? |
To die |
To sleep, no more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand |
natural shocks that flesh is heir to |
'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. |
To die, to sleep |
To sleep, perchance to dream, ay |
There’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what |
Dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause» |
Pft, like what? |
This next song is about quantum mechanics |
This next song |
I was raised very well, like a field of corn |
You know, I was also raised very Christian, like the Children of the Corn |
And Christians get angry at me 'cause I say things like, «Why the long nose, |
Pope-nocchio?» |
They’ll think I’ll go to Hell |
The truth is, I’ve been to Christian Hell |
And I actually wrote a song about it |
Hitler was there |
And so were all the Jews, yeah |
So it got a little awkward |