Mum will often refer to the bogs hive mind,
For innovation in being screwed in the behind.
Bogs-blokes will be thoroughly chastised,
If mum hasn't been sufficiently dog-shit caramelised.
There's your father, knob like half a guava, again - blokes-related-trouser-palava;
He keeps your mum in the basement, and starves her.
It’s a mystery as to why Dad didn’t expect the council to reject a
proposal he made: appoint him as ‘Primary Schools Willy Inspector’
Mum needs to perhaps think about taking some cocks that are a bit thinner,
These days, when she's bending over, you can see what she's had for dinner.
An untrained eye might see eight blokes committing an horrific sex crime,
But in fact, mum's having a wonderful time.
There's a certain degree of power,
Gained by administrating a golden shower.
When it comes to screwing,
Dad has literally no idea what he's doing.
Mum's been doing a few pop-up bogs nights, which is all terribly middle class,
But she cares little about social status, as long as she's reamed in the arse.
Long line of blokes queuing to execute a 'slam dunk'
In Mum's 'basketball net' except of course rather than a basketball, it's spunk
