I used to be a toy
And meant to bring you joy
Not sure what I should call myself
Am I a girl or a boy?
Are you tempted to plant a kiss?
Looking for ever-lasting bliss?
It’s physical, it’s spiritual
But bottom line—it’s just big business.
Meant to take you to another place
Not exactly furthering the human race
But what you’ll see peering into me
A nice reflection of your face
Is it simply a matter of taste
Or a colossal financial waste?
Am I a liar, or object of desire,
Unique or just cut and paste?
Imbuing me with meaning may seem a little reckless
If you don’t believe then you can buy me as a necklace
Christie’s called me “earth-shattering”
and boy, that’s awfully flattering
With rampant prejudice and poverty
Am I anything more than a novelty?
$50, $60, $70 million or more
Listening to my maker is really a bore
He’s on the cover of Vanity Fair, exposed to the max
His worshippers duped by art-critic hacks
Its kitsch! It’s bling! Aesthetics been kinked!
Let’s be real and reveal we’ve all been hoodwinked
I’m just a shiny inflatable bunny
Who thinks the art market is all a bit funny
And if you really want to own me
I’m gonna set you back a whole lot of money
