On mum's part, it really is fantasy thinking,
That she can take all those blokes up "from where it is stinking."
The landlord's blasting oldskool rave,
As the local farmhands "send mum's bumhole to its grave".
Only the tensile strength of mum's callused, leathery pissflaps
Prevents a complete anal prolapse
Your dad's suffered a lifetime of appalling ill health;
Due, in part, to continually going to the toilet on himself.
Mum's slipped a disc,
During a game of 'Clitorisk.'
Mum shakes out her twat like Town Criers bells,
A powerful calling to blokes, but fuck me, it smells.
The morning after a bogs-shift, mum's lucky if her anus,
Returns to size-setting "open tub of humus."
Dad's "stable door" wide open; passersby "revolted";
After his miniature "horse" has clearly "bolted".
Analyzing the data in dad's sex-portfolio,
100% of acts were performed solo.
Dad's nano-genital never verified erect,
And everything else about them also incorrect.
