Hardly anything there at all.
The mood in the gents is gloomy,
Blokes saying mum's bum,
Has become,
Just that little bit *too* roomy.
Mum: mostly does blokes without high standards
Dad: exposes himself to bystanders
These days, bogs-blokes are struggling to comprehend,
Where mum's twat starts and where arsehole ends.
Even though she's got a cunt that's becoming slightly cloyed,
News that Mum's in the gents tonight means blokes morale is buoyed,
The experience of nobbing her is something we've all enjoyed,
Except for Dad, of course, who remains sexually unemployed.
Dad feels that his chances of sexual activity might improve,
If his genitals weren't "Ken doll smooth."
Mum's decorated the bogs with Jubilee bunting,
For patriotic blokes queueing to give her a fucking cunting.
Even in the supposedly sacred period of Lent,
Your mum's eating out bloke's shit-boxes in the gents.
Your mums excitement got ahead of her,
she force-fed your dad her soggy wheatabix enema.
Poor mum has to deal with the novices and noobs,
Who turn up at the bogs clutching some form of lubes.
Run-of-the-mill bogs-fucks, mum's beginning to hate,
That was until one extremely big-bloke made her arsehole irreversibly dilate.
