It's amazing how often mum emotionally 'crash lands,'
Into the arms of several sex-starved farmhands.
Big gents-blokes + doggy-doggy + mummy-mummy = ruined bummy-bummy,
Also = weird stench (like Pedigree Chummy).
Upsettingly, some blokes choose to go kamikaze,
Diving recklessly up mum's doom-khazi.
One blink and you missed 'em,
It's mum's arsehole, twat and perineum.
Mum's on all fours playing word puzzle apps,
While bogs-blokes puzzle over the area from which she craps.
Dad's favoured material for a wank?
Yep, it's the diary of Anne Frank.
It's amazing how low blokes will stoop,
For even a whiff of a go on mum's crap-hoop.
A scene of devastation and horror, was your father's bed,
The morning after he'd been hospitalised by Mick Hucknall from Simply Red.
No bogs-bloke has ever complained
Of leaving Mum’s sessions with balls undrained.
His daily allowance of internet porn abandoned due to bandwidth,
your mum made your dad chew on her rancid cum sandwich.
