Faces, and then shit and piss.
Your dad gets loads of flack,
for having a really shit ball-sac.
Two bottles of white cider and about thirty blokes in,
Parity reached, between sizes of mum's bum and wheelybin.
I've been on bogs-hols with you mum in Bratislava,
We met a Slovak biker gang, who basically fucking halved 'er.
Mum feels the festive period is wasted
If she doesn’t spend it getting ‘turkey basted’
There'd been a tip-off and the ambulance crews were already there,
Even so, some kind onlooker set off a Bum-doctor Distress Flare,
Whilst rubber-neckers slowed down traffic to stare,
Yep, Mum had suffered a massive cunt-to-arse tear.
Mum's latter years pièce de résistance,
Is that her shitter has absolutely no resistance.
Here's the meal,
it's freshly plated,
it's a baked potato
(on a bed of shit, grated).
Mum's menu: universally slated.
Dad's finding little support,
For his "Olympics, but for men with penises that are very thin and short".
Your father's wrong-shlong fails to fatten,
unless placed directly in front of the underwear section of catalogue: Gratton.
Bogs-marketing stats show mum's most in demand,
From the demographic sector "low cognition farmhand."
