For pumps of my wife I have love; they so please me;
They complement the sarong
Of hers and when she's gone, into which I squeeze me,
And beneath that is her thong.

For pumps, as a youth, was what I always dreamed of--
I adored those shoes.
Now I sit and choose
Between reds, greens, and blues.

Footwear, yeah!

The pumps of my wife I will borrow discreetly
Because I think she'd be sore
That pumps of hers had been sullied; she'd de-feet me:
I wouldn't hoof anymore.

In pumps I sashay; they're not mine, but I take them
From her closet each day; I'll never forsake them.
For pumps of my wife, I have lust; the soles tease me.

The pumps of my wife, fetish furrows my feet seek.
If she knew, she would be sore
That pumps of hers I shuffle around in each week
While she works at the shoe store.

In pumps I sashay; they're not mine, but I take them;
I think that I'll become a cobbler and make them--
For pumps are my life; I'll find someone to teach me.

[alternate ending]
In pumps I sashay; I will never forsake them.
Wife comes home early, says, "How could you take them?"
For pump goes my wife, and the trigger squeezes she.