Lyrics:

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 the 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

That's the trouble with impressionists
That's the trouble with impressionists
That's the trouble with impressionists
That's the trouble with impressionists

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

That's the trouble with personalities
That's the trouble with personalities
That's the trouble with personalities
That's the 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

That's the trouble with classicists
That's the trouble with classicists
That's the trouble with classicists
That's the trouble with classicists