“You Never Kissed the Orange Ass”: Bette Midler’s Colbert Serenade Becomes the Anthem No One Saw Coming

It was supposed to be a simple farewell segment — a legend visiting another.
But when Bette Midler stepped onto The Late Show with Stephen Colbert just months after CBS announced the show’s final season, the night turned into something closer to performance art — part protest, part love letter, part roast with a halo.

Under the hot stage lights, the 70-year-old Hocus Pocus star stood beside the piano, clutching a microphone like it was a torch. Then she smiled that familiar mischievous grin and began to sing.

“It must have been cold here at The Late Show,
Despite the high ratings and awards,”

The audience erupted — half in laughter, half in recognition. This wasn’t nostalgia. This was rebellion, set to melody.

A Song Rewritten for a Goodbye — and a Cause

Midler had rewritten the lyrics to her own classic, “Wind Beneath My Wings,” transforming it into a comedic ode to Colbert’s wit, integrity, and late-night legacy.
But as the verses rolled on, it became clear she wasn’t just serenading him — she was making a statement.

“You need a gig that’s more worthwhile,
Now that you’re more in demand than Epstein’s file.”

Laughter rippled through the studio.
Even Colbert, known for his deadpan composure, doubled over, his signature eyebrow arched high in mock horror.

Midler didn’t miss a beat. She leaned in and delivered the line that would go viral before the night was over:

“Did you ever know that you’re my Frodo?”

A wink to Colbert’s lifelong love of The Lord of the Rings.
Then, with theatrical conviction, she belted:

“You stand for what’s right with wit and class!
Thank you… I hold you high as the great egos —
Because you never kissed the orange ass.”

The crowd howled. Then, at Midler’s cue, they joined her — chanting the line in unison, a comic chorus turned cultural refrain.

Laughter as Legacy

By the time she reached the finale —

“Fly, fly away! Like Gandalf’s golden wings,
Thank you, thank you, thank God for you — the Lord of all our rings!” —

Colbert was on his feet.
The two embraced as the band swelled, the moment equal parts absurd and profound.

“I love you,” Midler said, as Colbert wiped a tear — or maybe just sweat — from his face.

Online, fans were calling it a “new protest song.”
Within hours, the clip had been reposted across platforms, racking up millions of views and spawning countless memes, duets, and acoustic covers.

“Still sassy after all these years,” one fan wrote on Instagram.
“This is the tribute we didn’t know we needed.”
“Bette Midler just made late-night history,” another added.

A Moment of Music, Memory, and Mischief

For an industry often accused of playing it safe, the performance was a reminder that live television can still shock, amuse, and inspire — sometimes all at once.

Midler’s reimagined ballad straddled sincerity and satire: a love song to a friend, a jab at political hypocrisy, and a gentle middle finger to conformity.

“That’s Bette,” one of Colbert’s longtime producers said after the taping. “She can wrap truth in glitter and still make it sting.”

The audience, too, seemed to sense the gravity beneath the humor. The Late Show’s end isn’t just another program signing off — it marks the sunset of an era in which late-night hosts acted as moral barometers, court jesters, and confessional priests for a divided country.

An Anthem for Colbert — and for Late Night Itself

As the final episodes of The Late Show approach, Midler’s performance felt like more than a farewell. It was a eulogy — joyful, biting, and utterly on brand for a time when comedy doubles as cultural critique.

Political satirist Leah Morgan summed it up best on X (formerly Twitter):

“Bette Midler didn’t just sing for Colbert. She sang for every performer who still believes truth and humor belong in the same breath.”

Even mainstream outlets joined in. Rolling Stone dubbed the number “a musical mic drop.”
Fans began calling it “You Never Kissed the Orange Ass” — a title that stuck faster than any official label.

Why It Landed

Midler’s humor carried the same energy that has defined Colbert’s 30-year career: bold, brainy, and fearlessly political.

Both have spent decades blurring the line between entertainment and activism. For Colbert, it was nightly monologues laced with moral outrage. For Midler, it was a lifetime of wit turned weapon, laughter used as defense and defiance.

Their chemistry — half Broadway razzle, half truth serum — made the performance feel less like television and more like a passing of the torch.

“She didn’t just sing a song,” wrote cultural critic Andre Vasquez.
“She gave us the thesis statement of late-night TV’s golden age: sincerity with a punchline.”

A Final Bow, A Last Laugh

As confetti rained down and the applause faded, Colbert turned to Midler with a mock solemnity.

“You realize,” he said, “this is going to be on my tombstone.”

Midler grinned. “Only if I design it,” she quipped, before taking a final bow.

Moments later, CBS cut to commercial, but the audience remained standing — clapping long after the lights dimmed.

Epilogue: The Song That Stuck

By the next morning, a fan-uploaded version of the performance titled “You Never Kissed the Orange Ass — Live from The Late Show” had surpassed five million views.

College a cappella groups were already rehearsing it. Protestors at political rallies were quoting it on handmade signs. Even a few symphonic orchestras reportedly wanted to adapt it.

Somewhere between parody and protest, between satire and sincerity, Bette Midler had done what she always does best: turn the truth into a tune — and sing it straight to power.

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