The trouble with a classicist he looks at a treeThat's all he sees, he paints a treeThe trouble with a classicist he looks at the skyHe doesn't ask why, he just paints a skyThe trouble with an impressionist, he looks at a logAnd he doesn't know who he is, standing, staring, at this logAnd surrealist memories are too amorphous and proudWhile those downtown macho painters are just alcoholicThe trouble with impressionist is X4The trouble with personalities, they're too wrapped up in styleIt's too personal, they're in love with their own guileThey're like illegal aliens trying to make a buckThey're driving gypsy cabs but they're thinking like a truckThe trouble with personalities is X4I like the druggy downtown kids who spray paint walls and trainsI like their lack of training, their primitive techniqueI think sometimes it hurts you when you stay too long in schoolI think sometimes it hurts you when you're afraid to be called a foolThe trouble with classicists is X4
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