A Story ‘Bout This Guy I Used To Work With

there’s this guy i used to work with: said
they treated him real bad there, wors’n he’d ever been treated afore
in his life.

said he’d quit.
said he’d quit, an’ then he did quit.

the one day, i come into work, an’ he ain’t there,
ev’ryone talkin’ ‘bout it all whispers an’ surprise:
yeah, you know the one, can ya b’lieve it?
he just up an’ fucking quit
.

he was a shrimpy little devil, quiet-like: no one suspected it.
that day made me smile big.
this guy,
he sets his brain to a thing, an’ then he up an’ moves on it, see?

so many people now, they talk big shit; but it’s all mouth, man:
pussies
so busy hidin’ out behin’ they own wall o’ spit an’ lies,
naught but excuses ever;

noisy, sniveling cowards, the whole lot,
cryin’ today ‘bout the same as last week ‘bout the same as
ten, ‘leven, twelve months afore.

it’s like if ya stub yer toe on the same old nail
ev’ry day for a whole damn year, an’ you cuss, but don’t never remove it,
or hammer the bitch down, or adjust yer routine…

anyway, this guy, he did it, man:
got hisself free o’ what was ill-fittin’ –
tore it up
an’ chucked it, without no lookin’ back.

i think that’s the ticket, right there:

ya gotta git yerself real hot, see? red-hot pissed.
then ya just rip outta all that slop an’ shit that ails ya,
an’ don’t never look back.

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