Fuck my area off.
It's Christmas Eve and mum's brown-eye, Already resembles an open-topped mince pie.
Mum's teaching a class at Night School: 'Advanced Level Sex Work With Stools.'
(to tune of ABBA's The Winner Takes It All) 'Your mummy takes them all, Your daddy's willy: small, Together in the gents, Different kinds of sex-offence.'
Even techniques of complex-valued geometry, Are inadequate to explain mum's chronically-knobbed neths-taxonomy.
Bogs-dieticians suggesting a high-fibre diet to budge, Mum's enormous "poo-berg" of packed fudge.
afterwards your mum said I was sick, to use her apron to wipe off my dick
All the farm lads ganged up on mum's turder, And now it looks like the aftermath of a grisly murder.
Mum's in the bogs, absolutely "flying", At the centre for assisted dying.
Dad: cry-wanking to "Leisure Suit Larry" on fourteen floppy disks Mum: in the bogs with fourteen unfloppy dicks
Dad prefers farm men, And / or children.
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