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 

F**k 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