Mum went off to the 'Bum-'Ole Destruction Spring Fayre,'
Came back with anus-status: beyond repair.
Your father in bed with a Jesuit priest,
He's left him something to think about (infections, yeast).
Mum’s covered in dog eggs
Surrounded by blokes in the loading bay of a regional distribution centre for Greggs
Mum always wins first place gold,
Category, bogs-whore most frequently arseholed.
dad's in the gents again getting fucked by piltdown man,
mum's back at the twat-quacks
(booth stench: week-old flan).
Mum permanently wears the scents,
Of the public gents.
Bogs-blokes have a strong hunch,
That it was sweetcorn mum had for lunch.
Mum reminisces,
As her face receives pisses.
Mum charges Polish blokes one zloty
For unlimited access to her botty-slotty.
Mum's launched her own brand of perfume; tonight down the gents, she was wearing it,
Funny smell...remarkably similar to loads of different blokes' shit.
