He always liked to paint with his sunglasses on   Cause acrylics tend to burn on his eyes   And nothing brought him closer to the canvas   Than the warmth of Eleanor's thighs   He never had much of a devious nature   But was hardly a modern day saint   If you asked the little boy what he'd be when he grew up   Said I'd rather be a fireman than paint      Keep on painting      She always liked to dance with no shoes on   Cause the gravel felt good on her toes   And Mr. Merriweather left his wife and his kids   In search of a polka dot rose   They never thought much of his mongrelesque stature   Or the scent that could make a buzzard faint   If you asked the little boy what he'd be when he grew up   He'd say   Keep on painting