Artist: Gym Class Heroes Album: The Papercut Chronicles Song: To Bob Ross With Love Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash [Verse One] Now who you know leave the scene messier than canvases by Jackson Pollock throwin multicolored thoughts at a rapid pace I'll, make a mess you dissect it and make sense of it Then get back to me, at your earliest convenience Check my verbal sequence, as I texturize these tracks Seven layers to be exact, eliminate the wack With a firm brush stroke, I MC paintily Lyricists begin crumblin, from my scumblin technique As I tweak your audio and visual Keep my drips minimal, messages subliminal Cause me and rap go way back, we compliment So together we enhance one another that's common sense High intensity catches the eye, your jaw drops Be a real critic, not explicit with false props I keep my thoughts deep my lights bright, I'm very thorough With my chiaroscuro inspiration sparkin the knife Now watch me rock the spot like Basquiat, minus the heroin And make my face popular like Andy did to Marilyn It's kinda scary when, real art gets left behind While they take bullshit, and start sellin it to blind folks But, I remain humble As long as Grayskul continues spinnin hot shit On his twin twelve-hundred color wheels of steel Fuck mass appeal, art is art Only the real can truly feel it So, open your eyes and listen, combine your ears with vision Or do it cause you love it or for cash that's your decision That's your decision, that's your decision [Verse Two] Its like I'm torn between two worlds, a paintbrush and a microphone A canvas or a beat, CD or LP Anything goes when my ink pen flows And God only knows where it's gonna bring me next, so I'm inclined to like paint rhymes And spit kaleidoscopes, with one eye closed And I suppose if you chose the path that I chose You know the cycle asshole don't front It goes, inspiration and productivity Then, a sense of self-worth and in steps depression Like back and forth, and forth and back Should I, paint a picture or record a track A gift or a curse; I don't know I'm still undecided But, over the years I've found clever ways to hide it And those that lack the passion I have may despise it But my momma made me this way, I thank her everyday So tell them kids to keep colorin outside the lines Until they lose they limitations and they minds is free Tell the teachers that you want your money back this time And tell Bob Ross thanks for all the happy little trees And tell my momma that her baby boy's doin just fine Although he's runnin out of patience but his mind is free And tell my pops that I'll pay his money back sometime And that his son is two steps away from where he needs to be