Trouble With Classicists

The trouble with a classicist, he looks at a tree That's all he sees, he paints a tree The trouble with a classicist, he looks at the sky He doesn't ask why, he just paints a sky The trouble with an impressionist, he looks at a log He doesn't know who he is, standing, staring, at this log And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic The trouble with impressionist There's a trouble with impressionist There's a trouble with impressionist There's a trouble with impressionist The trouble with personalities, they're too wrapped up in style It's too personal, they're in love with their own guile They're like illegal aliens, trying to make a buck They're driving gypsy cabs, but they're thinking like a truck There's a trouble with personalities There's a trouble with personalities There's a trouble with personalities There's a trouble with personalities I like the druggy downtown kids who spray paint walls and trains I like their lack of training, their primitive technique I think sometimes, it hurts you when you stay too long in school I think sometimes, it hurts you when you're afraid to be called a fool There's a trouble with classicists There's a trouble with classicists There's a trouble with classicists There's a trouble with classicists