Gym Class Heroes - To Bob Ross with Love lyrics
GCH [Geneva, New York, U.S.] 🇺🇸
[Gym Class Heroes - To Bob Ross with Love lyrics]
Now who you know leave the
Scene messier than canvases
By Jackson Pollock throwin
Multicolored thoughts at a rapid pace
I'll, 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 wack
With a firm brush stroke, I MC paintily
Lyricists begin crumblin
From my scumblin 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 thoughts deep my lights bright
I'm very thorough
With my chiaroscuro inspiration
Sparkin the knife
Now watch me rock the spot like Basquiat
Minus the heroin
And make my face popular like
Andy did to Marilyn it's 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 Grayskul continues
Spinnin hot shit on his twin twelve hundred
Color wheels of steel
Fuck 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 it's
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 asshole 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
Colorin outside the lines
Until they lose they limitations and
They minds is free
Tell the teachers that you want
Your money back this time
And tell Bob Ross thanks for
All the happy little trees
And tell my momma that her
Baby boy's doin just fine
Although he's runnin 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
Scene messier than canvases
By Jackson Pollock throwin
Multicolored thoughts at a rapid pace
I'll, 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 wack
With a firm brush stroke, I MC paintily
Lyricists begin crumblin
From my scumblin 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 thoughts deep my lights bright
I'm very thorough
With my chiaroscuro inspiration
Sparkin the knife
Now watch me rock the spot like Basquiat
Minus the heroin
And make my face popular like
Andy did to Marilyn it's 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 Grayskul continues
Spinnin hot shit on his twin twelve hundred
Color wheels of steel
Fuck 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 it's
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 asshole 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
Colorin outside the lines
Until they lose they limitations and
They minds is free
Tell the teachers that you want
Your money back this time
And tell Bob Ross thanks for
All the happy little trees
And tell my momma that her
Baby boy's doin just fine
Although he's runnin 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