Overhead kick my twat off like Pelé;
Shouting 'fuck me, that's incredibly smelly'.
Eccentric dad, poorly hung, Penny Farthing;
Mum's in the bogs, on her way to 'halving'.
Mum's one of those bogs-trollops,
Who can really gollop,
A load of dog-dollop.
Mum a fuck-castle and around her a spunk-moat,
She arrives in the gents wearing only a coat,
Warning to dad: don't laugh and don't gloat,
Chances of you fucking? Extremely remote.
Mum: Donkey Dong
Dad: Wonkey Dong
Mum has clearly failed to 'Take Back Control,'
Of the sovereign integrity of her arsehole.
which part of your mum is it my turn to pummell? oh thanks, it's the back door, or, to you and me, the shit funnell.
Mum's photograph albums are a veritable treasure trove,
Of appalling images of her cunt and arse stove.
At the orgy of TV detectives,
Your eyesight was not defective,
You went and got your mini Kodak,
When your dad went down on Theo Kojak.
Although not advertised publicly,
Everyone knows mum does the big lads for free.
