Lady Elevator Operator

Aretha read the Daily News
Upon her stool
About The Cotton Club
Where white folk drank
And no one dared
Speak too easy
When Papa played the saxophone.

Although they did not know,
She did each day
With Duke and Papa on her mind
And did so now,
Rubbing her have to stand up feet
While waiting for the theater crowd.

“Evenin’, Retha.
Twenty second, please.
Folks at forty three clogged again.”

“Hey there, Sugar,
While you’re at it,
Your handyman would like to hear
‘Stormy Weather’ you used to sing
Like Lena Horne
To tease us boys in Sunday school.”

Now as her rocket droned and rose,
Aretha magic rose as well,
And even though
Ain’t no sun up,
Retha’s goin’, eyes on the prize,
Lordy, Lordy, praise You, Jesus,
Up, up, up in the sky.