Oh please, for goodness sake.
Mum: large and in charge,
Dad: petite and discreet.
Mum's spent a life in the bogs,
Getting buggered by low-cogs.
Fuck my arse loads
until it completely corrodes.
Mum misses getting knobs-thrice
Round the back of Our Price
whiffy poo:
stiffy for you.
swiftly, screw.
Mum and farmhands employ farm dogs,
To guard the precious stores of dog-logs.
Perhaps unfairly, mum's interpretation of "thin,"
Is anything less than "upturned wheelie bin."
The peak of bogs-blokes' bliss,
Is timing it just right for mum's "sloppy eighty-fifths".
Sometimes blokes say they can still hear Big Baz, brave bogs-bloke spelunker
Lost in the recesses of Mum's cavernous bum-bunker
Dad's conflating the idea he has feminist principles,
With the fact he has tiny and dysfunctional genitals.
