Mum’s ordered an industrial sex toy to batter her poo-flue
Computer-controlled via serial port (RS-232)
There's your father, knob like half a guava, again - blokes-related-trouser-palava;
He keeps your mum in the basement, and starves her.
These days, Mum’s mainly ‘down to bone’
Gents exceeding the length/girth threshold of ‘airport Toblerone’
Mum operates a sin-bin,
For blokes who transpire to be too thin.
isn't it ace,
when i piss on your face?
urinary shower disgrace.
Even seasoned bogs-blokes can find it distressing,
Seeing mum hurriedly arrive at the gents, already undressing.
The phrase 'like a ship coming into port' might sound metaphorical or euphemistic,
But in 1914 (prior to it sinking) your great-grandmother was actually fucked by the Titanic.
Mum's offering lifetime guarantees,
To all thick blokes, of bogs freebies.
Mum’s covered in dog eggs
Surrounded by blokes in the loading bay of a regional distribution centre for Greggs
