My father was a marine before I knew him before he knew me
My father was a tough soul
A paint brush and canvas helped him find his way
On the streets in Oakland
Was the playground where we would play
Grit and oil were his recipe of inspiration
The smell of steel and an ocean breeze
Offered hope and a hell of a lot of desperation
This is the playground where we would play
My father was the Artist of my world today
Some would think he was lost
But he knew where he was
He lived in the darkness of the white stark canvas
Yet It would light up with the colors he'd choose
With his brush strokes of lightning flair
The world comes alive with electric purple and the sound of blues
This is the playground where we play
My father is the artist of my world
And why I am a sculptor today
My father is the artist of my world
So When I find myself in fire and steel
Colors of yellow and blue
I feel the lightning of his brush strokes
When the hammer hits
Through and through
My father is the artist of my world