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