It's not my fault you creaked your neck when you looked up from giving The Man a blowjob. I don't see how it's on my shoulders that the sight of His secretary spiking the coffee caused you such a stir. When he had you on all fours under his deck did you not smell the finish? Were you not pining for his attention since you were twelve when you were first popped?
Oh you set the stage and now you want to be set free? Please.
Rest assured there'll be kickbacks in the form of sassafras and Shakespeare and scorn and porkbarrel.
But don't come blaming me for your snooping around. You were wet behind the ears when I met you and your hearing suffers just barely during orgasm.
Listen...you have the calf strength but it disappears as you fucking ascend as his able hand blocks my view.
You've arrived.
A relative garnish on an occasionally proud record.
You're a leg, four legs, fourseen.
Forlorn. Glazed over look in your eyes.
Sexy.
Utter my verse and repeat until fade:
You saw the company dime on the floor and you stuck it inside you just like everyting else and now it's yours and his to share. I'm sure you got a good look at it first. How did it smell and what was it's circumference?
In ten years they'll need you at the U.S. mint, and they'll dig you out.