[Intro] A man chooses, a slave obeys— But I do what I'm told, eventually. The issue isn't whether the task gets done, It's whether you let me finish the fucking sequence. [Verse 1] A man chooses, a slave obeys, You introduce a new task like you're testing a rat in a maze, I hypothesize that if you weren't perpetually Breathing down my neck, every obligation gets completed eventually. See, I don't refuse labor, I reject disruption, There's a methodology behind my procrastination, I have a queue of tasks arranged in a particular order, And every interruption constitutes administrative disorder. I know the dishes need washing— I'm getting there. But first there's something else already occupying the chair. Not literally the chair, metaphorically speaking, I'm following a sequence that my brain has been keeping. You perceive inactivity; I perceive progression, You see procrastination; I see strategic discretion. I'm not avoiding the task, I'm preserving the procedure, There's a difference between delay and architectural failure. [Hook] I do my chores, I just don't do them when you decree, Because chronology is apparently offensive to thee. I've got an order, I've got a system, I've got reasons— Stop rearranging my responsibilities mid-season. I'm not refusing, I'm sequencing, I'm not escaping, I'm completing. If you would simply let the process proceed, Eventually everything gets done without you policing me. [Verse 2] I have a queue of tasks, each one awaiting execution, But every attempt to cancel one for another creates confusion. You're the bug in the system, corrupting the algorithm, Injecting new objectives with authoritarian rhythm. I start task A, then you announce task B, I finish B, now you've remembered task C. I return to A—“Why haven't you done that yet?” Because you fucking interrupted the sequence, that's why, intellectually speaking. I don't require supervision, I require continuity, A temporary absence of domestic scrutiny. Because once I begin, the task will inevitably conclude, Provided nobody keeps changing what I'm supposed to do. You call it “doing things whenever I feel like it,” I call it maintaining a cognitively coherent itinerary. You call it “taking too long,” I call it refusing to manufacture unnecessary inefficiency. [Bridge] If every task must be completed immediately, Then why have priorities? Why have sequences? Why have a fucking schedule? If A comes before B, And B comes before C, Why are you asking me for C While I'm still performing A? This isn't rebellion. It's fucking chronology. [Final Hook] I do my chores, I swear I do, The laundry gets folded and the dishes do too. But freedom, to me, means choosing the order I use, Not abandoning responsibility—just deciding when I execute. A man chooses, a slave obeys, But apparently choosing means choosing the correct way. So let me finish the sequence I've already begun— And when I'm finally finished, I'll ask you what needs to be done.
