Song meaning of 6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con) by Will Wood and the Tapeworms

Ah, the melodious tale of 6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con) by Will Wood and the Tapeworms. Prepare yourself for a wild ride through the twisted mind of the artist. In this riveting composition, we find ourselves immersed in a delightful encounter with the boys in blue. Will Wood's narrative begins with the classic six-up, five-oh scenario, where the piggies come, and he cop n' goes like a boss. The blotter shows that they got him on the rocks, feeling as isolated as the Galapagos Islands. But fear not, for he is here to make your heart race with his creepy critter charm. Wood suggests that they should have fried him, because he's about to give you some serious PTSD. Shots of vodka cascade down his throat as he dances away like a rebellious Gazelle. Guns are cocked and quotas are met, keeping us all in a state of shock and awe. Driving is tiring, so he resorts to hot-wiring for a jailbreak riot getaway. Meanwhile, his cellmates scrape their way through bricks in the basement, filling the air with the desperate symphony of their escape attempts. Too late, though, as our fearless anti-hero finds himself committed to the mental ward, committing all the crimes and playing the ultimate game of life and luck. Guilty, but not to blame, he's a slave to the main vein, spraying on the mainframe while hoping to maintain some semblance of sanity. Oh, the trials and tribulations of being a misunderstood artist. Now, let us fly into the chorus where Wood encounters someone who bears a striking resemblance to something he's been remembering. And lo and behold, this mysterious figure looks just like his bathroom mirror! Sweet revelation! Moving on, we witness our protagonist engaging in a heated dialogue with the policeman. He pleads for no heel-to-toe, desperately wanting to be released from this cosmic joke. The question arises, is it a test? Well, he won't know until he's under arrest. What a thrilling cliffhanger, my friends! In the second verse, we delve into the dubious realm of the drunk tank, where the boulder of rock n' roll gathers its moss. Wood snickers at those fools who believe punk is dead while he, in all his glory, refuses to be a believer. He boasts of being lichen-coated, ready to make you slip and bust your kneecap. Oh, how charming! Suddenly, we shift to open the Amazon and hide the cure for cancer because, of course, why not? Wood compares himself to Lance Armstrong, the familiar hero fighting the necromancer. It's all chaos, crash, and burn, leading us to the 42nd answer. Amidst the madness, he finds solace in his fellow skeletons who dance with the army ants. Flies on his eyeballs and scabs on his elbows? Heaven itself must be shaking its head in disbelief. As the song reaches its climax, we explore a profound existential crisis. Death creeps in, mayhem cries mayday, and oncoming doom hangs heavy in the air. Wood sarcastically advises us to save our convictions, for they shall never bear any semblance of truth. Finally, he begs the policeman for answers. Am I being detained? Am I under arrest? But alas, no rights are read, and the request for a phone call goes unanswered. As the final chorus washes over us, we are left with a plea, a desperate cry for freedom amidst this carnival of chaos. So, my dear listeners, don't let the heel-to-toe tests and the clutches of authority hold you down. Embrace the madness, sing along, and remember, you won't know the outcome until you find yourself under arrest!