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Vintage Will Wood & the Tapeworms from 2015, one of a handful of DIY music videos made on zero budget with a group of friends around that time. (𝗣𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗘𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗽𝘀𝘆 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗶𝘇𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗱𝘂𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗘𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗽𝘀𝘆.) Directed by Will Wood and Jesse Lazarus Animation by Will Wood Music and Lyrics by Will Wood Piano/Vocals/Kazoo: Will Wood Saxophone: Dan Chetnik Drums: Thomas Finch Guitar: James Horvath Bass: Ben Scardo Production/Engineering: Jonathon Maisto Recorded at Backroom Studios in Rockaway, NJ Featuring appearances by Justin Symbol, The Skulx, and Frogg Party Lyrics: Six-up, five-oh, pigs come, I cop n’ go. The blotter shows they got me on the rocks like Galapagos. Good luck finding critters creepy as me. They shoulda fried me, I’ll give ya PTSD Vodka shots droppin’ down the throat they been stompin’ on. Cockin’ guns, lockin’ up, the quotas all for shock n’ awe. 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***ers’ gotta do the time. Committed to the mental ward, committing all the crimes. I’m alive and kickin’ till the split ends fray. Maybe plead insane, guilty, but I’m not to blame! I’m a slave to the main vein, sprayin’ on the mainframe. Suffering the infrastructure, hoping I can maintain! Oh how I know how I go how I go. Ask me a question the answer I know. Yes or no options don’t weigh out and so; I don’t ever see the cons and the pros. You bare a striking resemblance. Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’. You appear familiar dear. You look just like my bathroom mirror. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Oh please, let me go! Please police- is it a test? I won’t know till I’m under arrest. The drunk-tank’s blood red. Junkie’s gonna relapse. Some think punk’s dead, me I don’t believe that. Rock n’ roll gatherin’ the moss till I be that lichen-coated boulder, make you slip, Bust your kneecap! Open on the amazon, hide the cure for cancer. 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. Flies on my eyeballs, scabs on my elbows. Heaven knows God’s sittin’ up there like “Hell no!” Only one thing comes to those who wait. Is it too late to embrace your fate? My death come swiftly and gently to you. Mayhem, cry mayday, and oncoming doom. Save your convictions, they never will do. What you say’s at least 1/6 billionth true. You bare a striking resemblance. Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’. You appear familiar dear. You look just like my bathroom mirror. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Oh please, let me go! Please police- is it a test? I won’t know till I’m under arrest. Am I being detained? Am I under arrest? Read me my rights please. I want my phone call. Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Oh please, let me go! Please police- is it a test? I won’t know till I’m under arrest.
