Your dad's filling in at the gents, he's not bad as a substitute sucker,
Your mum's at Leicester Forest East Services, 'servicing' the truckers.
Your Mum opening her legs is like a World War One trench, i.e. sopping, rotting, filled with men - oh and the stench.
At Bogs-Slut Conference '24, mum's keynote speech extols the virtues,
Of willy-doubles, otherwise known as "taking a fews."
When blokes come round to stove her, mum gets rhythmic (bossanova).
Men feed and clothe her.
Dad, Mum, Dad, Dad, Mum, Dad, then Mum again,
Arse, face, arse, face, fanny fanny- oh no! knobstrain!
You're designed,
To get fucked from behind.
Mum's TV concept: a lot like Robot Wars
Except the robots are solely designed to smash in her back doors
These days, Mum’s mainly ‘down to bone’
Gents exceeding the length/girth threshold of ‘airport Toblerone’
Mum's a glutton
For bog-blokes hammering her bum-button
Overhead kick my twat off like Pelé;
Shouting 'fuck me, that's incredibly smelly'.
