Monday, April 18, 2011

Bo Burnham songs

i don't have anything to write so i am posting my favorit Bo Burnham songs, enjoy

"Klan Kookout"

Grab a seat
Have something to eat
Help yourself, it's all right
If you want a beer, they're over here
But we only got Coors light
Try a chip with my homemade dip
The stuff is outa sight
Right before bed, we'll shave your head
It's a good thing you're dressed in white

Cos it's a Klan Kookout
Cos it's a Klan Kookout

Here's my wife, slash sister
She brightens up my day
She went away and I missed her,
Cos my Mum's a lousy lay
Don't hang with foreign fellows,
It'll only be your loss
Stay here and roast marshmallows
Beside the burning cross

At the Klan Kookout
Just the black people
Klan Kookout
Dad's on lookout
At the Klan Kookout

And if you're black
Don't want to see your face
They're like a high school track
Just a stupid race
We got a plan
Kill all the Jews
Are you a Mexi-can
Because you seem confused
(SeƱor, KKK?)

It's a Klan Kookout
It's a Klan Kookout
Mein Kampf?
Check that book out
At the Klan Kookout

All men are created equal,
Man that shit gets me pissed
Here's an idea for a sequel
Someone loses Schindler's List
I cook, I clean
Cos I'm the hooded host
And on Halloween,
I dress as a ... slave owner

We hate Hispanics
Hence the 20-foot walls
And all you God-damn dirty Catholics
Can Catho-lick my balls
Ethnics give off weird aromas,
And I can't understand
Why we need High School Diplomas
With a Bible in hand

At the Klan Kookout.
I have black friends.
I was just kidding. I don't have black friends.  

"Rehab Centre For Fictional Characters"

Ah, well, hello, everyone. Uhm, welcome to the Rehab Center for Fictional Characters. Uhm, alright, let's just get right to it. Who wants to start us off, how 'bout you Kris?

Uhm, alright. Hey, I'm, uh, Kris Kringle, I'm a sex addict.

Hey, I'm Santa Claus,
I'm the king of snow,
I hate my wife because,
She's a ho, ho, ho.
She used to please me everyday,
Then she made it clear,
That Santa's only s'pose to come once a year.
(Fucking bitch.)

Now I buy whores,
Rock 'n' roll,
And I stuff their stockings,
With my north pole.

Okay, Kris. Thank you. Alright, who's up next? Patrick, frowny face, get up here.

Alright, I'm, uh, Patrick O'Riley, I'm a leprechaun, are you all doing good? Yeah, I'm not doing so good.

I had a wonderful life,
With a healthy household,
And a beautiful wife,
And a pot full of gold. (Ha!)

Then my wife spent my riches all by herself,
And since women are bitches, blew a Keebler elf. (Hm!)

Now I drink all day,
And a part of me dies,
Cause my wife's gettin gangbanged,
By the Rice Krispie guys.

"Hey, I know them."
Oh, Tony, nice of you to show up. Where were you last week?
Yeah, I had some stuff... I had to work out some stuff. I'm, uh, hey, I'm Tony the Tiger, uh, fuck it, I'll just sing.

Everyday I wake up, I get to work late,
My boss says, "hey, what's up?"
I say I'm grrrrrowing tired of this shit.
The kids they laugh cause I'm a sensitive cat,
"Big pussy!" I can't argue with that.
If another kid gives me Frosted Flakes,
I swear on my life, I'll eat his- parents.

Ok, Tone, thank you. Uhm, so that's everybody. So let's just get down to it. Uhm, oh, who are you?

Hi, yeah, hi, yeah, hi, yeah.

I'm the Easter bunny, hey, I'm back,
Used to be funny, now I'm hooked on crack.
Heaps of heroin ain't no joke,
Marshmallow peeps covered in coke coke coke coke coke coke coke coke, coooooke.
Ahh, coke!

Drugs for life, that's my plan,
But now I have no attention spa-eeee...

Ok, I'm gonna go get him, alright? You guys just please, play nice, alright? I'll be back in a second, ok?

Santa: "Hey, Pat, did you hear? All my elves got sick. I think they got herpes from some Irish chick."
Patrick: "Motherfucker. What are you laughing at Tony?"
Tony: "I don't know it's, uh, it's funny, uhm."
Patrick: "This is getting ridiculous. Santa, Tony, could you guys please stop?"
Tony: "Oh, Snap... Crackle and Pop. [*chuckle*], 'cause they banged your wife."

Patrick: "I'm getting out of here, this is fucking ridiculous."

"Little Adolf"

Here he is, our little bundle of joy,
We did it honey, it's a baby boy.
We'll love him and raise him, 'til he finally leaves us,
What should we name him? How about Adolf?
Little Adolf.

He's growing up, like little boys do,
He's grown a mustache and he's only two.
He's a pyrotechnic and he loves to play with knives,
And our little buddy gives the weirdest high fives.

Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
He's a dictator tot,
Dictator-tot.

He gets a little bit angry, but he's smart as hell,
And who taught him how to speak German so well?
He doesn't like milk, soda hurts his head,
I tried to give him juice, this is what he said:

"I hate juice, okay?"
"Ok, Hitler, please, drink your juice. I'm tired, I want to go to bed."
"Just, you know what? Get the juice out of here, out of this house, out of this country, now."
"Hitler, get the j... what do you want me to do with...?"
"Put the juice in camps and separate them."
"Separate juice? Hitler, what you want me to do, separate them by flavor? By like, concentration?"
"Concentration... eh?"

Little Adolf, he's a dictator-tot. 

"Love Is..."

ooh ... what is this thing?
Just a reminder Bo, your EP is available now on iTunes.
Go and buy it, it is really good.
Ooh, hi, I didn't even see you there. I was just looking my notes over and ... ok
You wanna hear a song?

I love you like kings love queens,
like a gay geneticist loves designer jeans (genes)
I need you like New Orleans needs a drought,
like Hitler's father needed to learn to pull out.
And I want you ... yeah, like a lawyer slash mathematician wants some kind of proof.
And I want you like J.F.K. wanted .... a car with a roof.

Because love is, takin' that dive and gettin' really comfortable and peein' in the pool.
And love is, a real life porn ... minus all the stuff that makes porn cool.
And love is, a homeless guy ... searchin' for treasure in the middle of the rain and finding a bag of gold coins and slowly finding out they're all filled with chocolate and even though he's heartbroken he can't complain cuz he was hungry in the first place.

Because I love you like Dora loves maps,
like the Pope's toilet loves ... holy craps.
I need you like a voyeur needs a branch,
like boys tossing salad needs a little bit of Neverland ranch.
And I want you like all the gothic kids that look exactly the same never want to conform.
And I want you like Anne Frank wanted ... nobody to read her diary.
Cuz, like a diary is a collection of secret things that no one else reads, that's the whole point of a diary. Millions of people have breached this little girl's privacy after she was chased by Nazis, kick her while she's down.

And if we met in 10,000 B.C., I was your cave man you's my cave lady ...

If we god hot, we'd start rubbin',
if we got hungry, we'd go clubbin'.
There's woolly mammoths but I won't protect us,
you're makin' me devolve to a homo erectus.

And if we met in 1780, I was a white southern aristocratic plantation owner and you were my dark skinned servant lady ... slave

Whenever I could get away from the Mrs.,
I'd go to your shed and then I'd steal you kisses.
But let's be serious, I'd still work you full time as a slave, there's a difference between romantic language and a complete disregard for socioeconomic trends.

And if we met in 1941, I was a Nazi, you's a gypsy on the run (that's a little redundant)

That probably wouldn't have worked out ... yeah

Because, love is your favorite food for every breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And love is the holocaust, if you don't die quick and you don't get thinner.
And love is, bein' the owner of a company that makes rape whistles and even though you started the company with good intentions trying to reduce the rate of rape, now you don't wanna reduce it at all cuz if the rape rate declines you'll see an equal decline in whistle sales.
Without rapists, who's gonna buy your whistles?
Who's gonna buy your whistles?
Love is all about whistles.

That was for a girl by the way.  

he is so funny, that last song is my favorite.
and here is a photo, because every good blog needs one
 

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