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
F 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.