Oh fuck!
You're playing slops catch-up.
Dad has a really tenuous grasp,
Of when and when not to release his trouser belt clasp.
Your father got really high up in Scientology,
'til they audited his dick
(with it's odd cock ecology),
now he's combined his knob with automotive technology.
There's simply not enough days in the week,
For mum to get properly hammered in the shit-beak.
Mum's navigating the currently rough economic seas by carefully managing her hedge funds,
Dad's hoping to raise a few quid by sucking off Noel Edmonds.
There's no need to be linguistically austere,
Your dad is a stereotypical 'bubbly-queer.'
Mum's working on a porno version of Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey,
It's predominantly to be set up in the depths of her twat and will undoubtedly involve shit and wee.
Mum’s version of ‘dying with dignity’
Is ‘getting annihilated by very big willy’
Mum's bent over in the bogs sipping on piña coladas,
Occasionally offering encouraging shouts of "go fuckin' 'arder."
Dad's outfit for Broadmoor nonce-wing party for Eurovision,
Will almost certainly result in an extension to his time in prison.
