Mum: anyone's after one Bacardi
Dad: willy won't get hard-y
Local nonce authorities believed they had effectively enforced the rules,
But yet again, dad turns up at the school gates dressed in underwear made from his stools.
As the world existentially stands on the brink,
Blokes are comforted by the familiarity of mum's cunt-stink.
In a bizarre tribute to drum and bass DJ and producer, doctor Scot;
your mum forced two Technics turntables and a Vestax mixer up her mott.
Mum's had many, many a casual lover,
And now it's now hard to tell one part of her nether region from another.
It's amazing how often mum emotionally 'crash lands,'
Into the arms of several sex-starved farmhands.
Dad simply can't be trusted,
To be near a playground without a nut busted.
You're designed,
To get fucked from behind.
dad's less wise than an owl
and less cunning than a fox;
but he knows what he likes:
the utter destruction of his shitbox.
Dad's career as a lollipop lady hit the skids,
When he blatantly showed his willy to kids.
