The Philosopher's Song.
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel.
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away—
Half a crate of whisky every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And René Descartes was a drunken fart.
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker,
But a bugger when he's pissed.
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There, I corrected it a little bit.
When I was in college I had to take this utterly boring and pointless class in "Philosophy for Business". (You want philosophy in business? Read Gordon Gekko!) I typed up the song and passed it around in class.
