He got markin' in a fever
Once he got that paint to spout.
I am talkin' 'bout Jackson--
Too bad that his tire blew out.

Goin' too fast, Jackson;
That car wreck wrecked his health
So bad that he became a dead man
Who'd amassed a large pool of wealth.
It's sad 'bout Jackson--he had a lot of flair
He left us those throw-all "actions."
Losin' his hair.

When he breezed into the city
From a small Wyoming town,
Got Thomas Benton to teach him
How to lay those pigments down.
Beyond that, Jackson starts on canvas to emote;
Worked in an abstraction expressive, they wrote.

But some critics laughed at Jackson,
Said he was a phony. "Dregs"
They called paint dripped down
From above ground;
Jackson turned more and more to kegs--
Soaked it up, Jackson, a big-drinkin' man,
And he had been tastin', Jackson,
Behind wheel when car slammed.

Drove his car, and its receiver--
Large immovable redoubt.
And so for Jackson, the final act
Opposite reaction to action when he smacked.

Had fire-in-the-belly fever
A man of action, no doubt,
He's one of the greats, Jackson,
Too early the fire went out.