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

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