I Am The Secretary Songtext

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I Am The Secretary Songtext

I Am The Secretary Video:
I Am The Secretary Songtext 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.


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.
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I Am The Secretary Lyrics
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