One can no longer describe there being a marriage,
Between mum's perineum and the rest of her undercarriage.
It's The Public Gents Festival of Piss 2009,
And mum's wowing the crowds with her new 'Multiple Golden Shower Piss-Funnel' design.
Mum will often vaguely hear the dawn chorus,
As the last few dozen bogs-blokes file through her anus.
Dad's sex life reflects the saddest of sonnets,
Not least because he's got fuck-all under the bonnet.
Amongst blokes, your mum's appallingly buggered-to-bits-bum has become highly prized,
No such joy for dad; his pathetic non-cock has been universally described as 'poorly sized.'
It's Father's Day, and just like any other day,
Dad's hanging around where children play.
Dad's perhaps also the Harper Lee,
Of having a small, widely mocked thin-willee?
Mum: chasmal shit cabinet like a fucked Dim Sum;
Dad?
Ladbrokes, Wrexham.
The covering of dad's groin is, at best, spartan,
As he makes his way to kindergarten.
Quick!
Split my piss-kitchen!
It's crotch-crickets, and it's really itchin'!.
