Will Wood & The Tapeworms – 6up 5oh Copout Lyrics


Am I being detained? Drivin’s tirin’, and I been hot-wirin’ to make my get away from the
Jailbreak riot and
Cellmates scrapin’ upon the bricks in the basement,
Tryin’ to escape this probation generation- too late! Crazy f*ckers’ gotta do the time. I won’t know till I’m under arrest. Six-up, five-oh, pigs come, I cop n’ go. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Heaven knows God’s sittin’ up there like “Hell no! They shoulda fried me, I’ll give
Ya PTSD
Vodka shots droppin’ down the throat they been stompin’ on. Oh please, let me go! Open on the amazon, hide the cure for cancer. Mayhem, cry mayday, and oncoming doom. Good luck finding critters creepy as me. Oh please, let me go! Please police- is it a test? Read me my rights please. I won’t know till I’m under arrest. Committed to the mental ward, committing all the crimes. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. What you say’s at least 1/6
Billionth true. Cockin’ guns, lockin’ up, the quotas all for shock n’ awe. You bare a striking resemblance. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. The drunk-tank’s blood red. You bare a striking resemblance. Is it too late to embrace your
Fate? Suffering the infrastructure, hoping I can maintain! Yes or no options don’t weigh out and so; I don’t ever see the cons and
The pros. Please police- is it a test? You look just like my bathroom mirror. Ask me a question the answer I know. ”
Only one thing comes to those who wait. Save your convictions, they never will do. Am I under arrest? The blotter shows they got me on the rocks like Galapagos. My death come swiftly and gently to you. Some think punk’s dead, me I don’t believe that. Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’. You look just like my bathroom mirror. I want my phone call. Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’. Please police- is it a test? Junkie’s gonna relapse. Oh how I know how I go how I go. Slash n’ burn, crash into the 42nd answer,
All my fellow skeletons adore the army ants here. I’m alive and kickin’ till the split ends fray. Flies on my eyeballs, scabs on my elbows. I’m Lance Armstrong, you’re the necromancer. I’m a slave to the main vein, sprayin’ on the mainframe. Rock n’ roll gatherin’ the moss till I be that lichen-coated boulder,
Make you slip,
Bust your kneecap! Maybe plead insane, guilty, but I’m not to blame! You appear familiar dear. You appear familiar dear. Oh please, let me go! I won’t know till I’m under arrest.