Now who you know leave the scene   Messier than canvas's by Jackson Pollock   Throwing multicolored thoughts at a rapid pace   I 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 whack   With a firm brush stroke I mc paintily   Lyricists begin crumbling from my scumbling 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 darks deep my lights bright I'm very thorough   With my churascurro inspiration spark and a knife   Now watch me rock the spot like ? minus the heroin   And make my face popular like Andy did to Marilyn   Its 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 ? 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      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 its 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 ass ho 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 coloring outside the lines   Until they lose they limitations and they minds is free   Tell them teachers that you want your money back this time   And tell Bob Ross for all the happy little trees   And tell my momma that her baby boy is doing just fine   Although hes running 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