Staple me onto your crotch.
Become disappointingly partisan
On stink-stance: 'week-old-flan'.
Mum's spent a life in the bogs,
Getting buggered by low-cogs.
Dad's trouser meat,
Is embarrassingly petite.
Bush's legacy: Silk brocades for presidential aides.
Your Dad's legacy? Decades of dick AIDS.
Dad shouts loudly "one size fits all,"
On his learner bra market stall.
Mum can competently play a vuvuzela,
Out of the place she has poo-poo failure.
The peak of bogs-blokes' bliss,
Is timing it just right for mum's "sloppy eighty-fifths".
It's almost as if mum's designed,
To be fucked from behind.
Dad's passed the buck,
After a poorly choreographed bum fuck,
Forfeit? A covering in dog muck.
Dad's willy in small dog: stuck,
Update on mum? In the back of a fuck-truck.
Cunt appraisal: won't shut.
1000's of different bloke's spunk in where? Her gut,
Loads of blood and semen pouring out of her butt
Dad just stood watching (with a shit penis) going 'tut, tut.'
