Dad will happily reminise for hours,
On his years working the prison showers.
Mum took a helicopter,
Dad's got a 'little flopter.'
Dad begins his daily quest,
To be in playgrounds, undressed.
Following in daddy's footsteps (his example),
you felch for cash; frequency - ample.
Mum's life is grey and monotonous, interrupted by brief, fleeting moments of levity,
For instance, when a well-hung bloke fucks her up the anal cavity.
After bogs-blokes have gone and had their way,
Mum's arsehole resembles an over caramelised crème brûlée.
Dad’s idea of ‘having a wonderful Christmas Time’
Involves using his crotchless Santa suit for the purposes of sex crime
Item #541 found lodged in the depths of mum's cavernous twat.
It's a porcelain scale model of Eastender's Adam Woodyatt.
It's fair to say that mum's "poo-booth,"
Is no longer the one of her youth.
Dad's working on an exciting new recipie,
Involving loads of other blokes' shit, spunk and wee!
