The ruts, the ruts, The same old ruts forever, Day after day I grind away, Afraid to break and sever. Not lack of guts.
So, I complain. I give vent to pent-up hate By the cussing and the fussing; Yet, I weakly hesitate To break my chain.
I'm not a lamb Submitting to a fleecing; For underneath, my claws I sheathe, 'Til time for their releasing, Then, Holy damn!
The speaker is trapped in a grinding routine, the "same old ruts" of daily life, and knows it. What makes the poem interesting is how honestly he admits the gap between his anger and his actions. He complains, curses, and lets off steam, yet he still hesitates to "break my chain." He insists this isn't "lack of guts," though the poem quietly suggests he is a little afraid, and maybe a little defensive about it.
The final stanza shifts the tone. He refuses to be seen as a lamb meekly accepting a "fleecing." Instead, he pictures himself as an animal with sheathed claws, waiting for the right moment to strike. The closing "Holy damn!" is part threat, part release. The mood is restless and simmering, with a bitter humor running through the short, bouncing lines and tight rhymes. It's the sound of someone who is stuck, resentful, and not quite ready to snap, though he wants us to believe he will.