It's as if your mother is some how duty bound,
To always invite loads of big-blokes around.
Your mother's far-fetched claim (that she fought a giant spider)
Explains the ropes of sticky fluid but not what's wedged inside 'er
(A 3-litre bottle of 'White Lightning' Cider)
Mum's having her tits cubed by pound for pound greatest boxer, Manny Pacquiao;
Leading to her busted bum ending up strewn all over a square mile of Slough.
In a truly bizarre tribute to Danny Glover,
dad began 'Another 48 Hours' of pissing on your mother.
Post-shift, mum can produce a perfectly serviceable foie gras,
From her ass.
Mum's bent over on her phone watching the darts,
While the regulars pound away up her farts.
Mum's like some sort of sentient sperm 'cement mixer',
Dad's poor cock, though, isn't getting any thick(s)-er.
Mum considers it a disappointment
If after a bogs-sesh her bum'ole doesn't require a considerable amount of ointment
They say "any port in a storm" for the randy farm-laboured,
Maybe not though, when you see mum's arsehole "Pearl Harboured."
Blokes know mum and how to really arouse 'er,
A carrier bag of what's come out of the backend of Rover.
