Talk about piss.
Dad's once again reneged, On court orders to stay away from areas children played.
Your dad's in the tool shed trying to crack one off, Over a portrait from 1978 of broadcaster, Frank Bough.
Dad's enjoying a sunny day in the park making family-fun home-vids, Later confiscated by police because he'd been filming other people's kids.
Dad never "lasts," When he's watching YouTubes of Russian gymnasts.
Mum's never been considered a 'Beauty Queen,' But the sheer number of enormo-cocked bogs-blokes she's fucked, is obscene.
Bogs-blokes know that dog-cack, Is, for mum, an aphrodisiac.
Even in the supposedly sacred period of Lent, Your mum's eating out bloke's shit-boxes in the gents.
Mum's the hostess with the mostess, When it comes to being covered in dogs-mess.
In her seat, mum's adjusting, After another arsehole busting.
Mum's 'bum cycling' but what's caught in the spokes? It's loads of shit and piss, origin: gents-blokes.
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