Staple my balls to my face.
Bogs-blokes like to binge,
On mum's poo-minge.
Dad's lay awake many a night considering,
How and why his willy is never biggering.
Doggy chew
my 'shit-flu'.
Mum's insistence on anal,
Is bordering on banal.
It's accepted amongst bogs-blokes that the position at the back of the queue, known as the "anchor,"
Depending on the state of mum's arsehole come the end of the shift, that said bloke may need to be an "observing wanker."
Blokes are unceremoniously thrown out of the bogs with no apology or pardon,
If they are deemed "thin," "small," or "prone not to harden."
It's ironic to find that your favourite tipple,
Is the pissy blood-spunk dribbling from your mother's nipple.
Your dad's wrong-shlong once more 'on the slant',
he fails to get chubby then blubs "I cant!".
Dad wears the kind of loose fitting clobber,
That means he can very easily show the public his nobber.
Mum's internal dialogue,
Is a relentless repetition of "get fucked in the bogs, get fucked in the bogs..."
