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."
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