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
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