It's a wrap

Naw. I ain't sick.
I just can't do it.
There's lead in my body,
there's no way to move it.

My will has no voice.
This must be something divine.
Decisions trumped by God.
Man can't get me "in line".

Try to push, try to shove,
but I just won't budge.
Mental images of it done
end up blurred and fuzzed.

Maybe logic can chage me.
If I don't work...
Ain't no money.
Plus, there's people that rely on me.

Nope. I ain't doing it.
I'm just that fed up.
Can't make no excuses.
It's a wrap - fuck this job.