bikini eyelids flap to reveal big, beautiful lies,
soft mounds of sand washed by the rising tide.
the men touch and run their fingers through the warm gap;
like a river, their fingers flow along the charted map.
the places they'll go you won't believe until you see or smell,
all rivers reach the same sea eventually; they watch her ocean swell.
she sells seashells, but honestly her *** sells more well
because she's a tall glass of water when they're in burning hell.
she comes to their aid, but she requires to be paid...
oh well, they'll do anything just to get laid!
she stands with her feet wet on the seashore,
but wet sailors in the sea pass by and call her a ***** *****.
everything she did for them, they forget when they leave,
but who's got a ***** mouth with a cigarette under their sleeve?