Beep Beep - I Am the Secretary lyrics

Mothers clad in Coach leather

are swarmed in litigation.

I am the secretary.

I rub their case files

generating heat to release perfume.

I fill their shoes with the lift of hot air.

I burn their bridges on their lunch breaks

faking full schedules.

I dabble in the art of lobby stall.

I am the slow trickle filter

on the tap of rushing divorce force.

I dine on the marriage corpse.

At my desk I generate days of auto pollution

spat out from the scorched patience of fenced fems

on repeat lobby attendance.

Motoring in the grid -

a pressurized wavy-lined road roast.

The lid whistle screams in a chorus of horns.

Their asses red and flustered

from a regimen of cush upholstered smothering.

Their elastic bras bulge in a 12-hour life

grip as the stitched metal fingers

chip enamel from lingerie hoops.

A serum of skin salt/herbal lotion

spackles the strangled wheel

at ten and two o'clock;

pumps pumping breaks in a repetitive rock.

I am the fulcrum where client and counsel meet.

I shift leverage to teetering lawyer leaches that feed me

with loyalty checks from the tipped scales

of their spouse-dishonered hosts.

I burn them all on the phone

with empathetic friends in similar shitty lives.

We wade daily through the hot grid

to formalize these hustles.