1800
In this state of Tan Can Naps,
There are no materials to escape the trap,
Dips in R & B, cameos of dreams,
But no Tan T Bells of leaving the scene,
That is the jewel held in sunny skies,
The keeper of stones that slaves divide,
U would expect an explosion of air,
But deep in the womb all there is becomes a dare,
Tan, a color of construction,
Built by beams from groups’ propulsion,
Sure, they ride, but much is of tale,
The freedom from shape inside the bell,
A stop as numb as if they were nuns,
Keepers of presents inside the gun,
Luckily, no Redskin is here to point out,
The Tan Can Naps and all of its clouds,
A sunny day upon the hour of Brinks,
A Tan Can Lap of thighs so sweet,
Some dull features made up by seclusion,
The Tan Can Nap at his or her illusion,
Finally, we join the rest of the pack,
Born free to exist with Tan Can Naps,
Move, Get out the way, Get out the way.
