Oh please, for goodness sake.
Mum features regularly,
In "Dog-Shit Sex Monthly."
Dripping with shit, yet no need to cry foul,
it's hardly the first time i've vacated my bowel
(on your face).
Busy night for mum in gents with blokes, seems like there's an awful lot of 'em,
With the willy-doublies she's taking on, it's goodbye perineum!
Mum believes she’s found a loophole
Via which she can achieve a ‘willy quadruple’.
Dad's in the fuck-queue and he knows from the smell,
he's going to get his wrong'un rinsed (prison odour: bell).
Mum doesn't want lubricant,
Anywhere near her bum and cunt.
The bogs-blokes in the queue for mum, know exactly what beckons,
It's sloppy 3rds, 4ths, 5ths, 6ths, 10ths, 30ths, and so on (not just sloppy seconds).
Dad's at the Paralympics,
Campaigning for the inclusion of "men with really small and weird prics".
Your mum's had discussions with her lawyers and is now issuing a writ,
Against all the blokes that haven't entirely covered her in shit.
Mum has developed a uniquely atrocious strain of halitosis,
Due to a core diet of Buckfast, spunk and dog faeces.
