rather create things I love, when money's tight push comes to shove.
I'll draw a milkshake with your
fries, if that's better than drawing flies.
For artist rendered apathy,
in shades of mediocrity...
I'd charge you but a modest fee
to churn out anything you please.
I've also done artwork for free,
just ask real nice to pass the cheese.
Fame or fortune hope they buy,
in art fame comes after you die.
I butcher meat to make my
bread, an artist starves, the art scenes dead.
"No works over twelve
ninety-five, the fairgrounds this weekend only!"
If that's what keeps the dream
alive let me die broke and lonely,
Keep fame and fortune if that's
it, spit out your cheese and eat my shit.