Vegetable samosa with shit.
Your father's been left with an anal 'cleft pallet',
from being massively bummed by TV's Timmy Mallet.
Uh-oh,
Dad's selling brown Play-Doh.
It's a freezing cold night, but still blokes are queuing,
For a taste of mum's "sticky toffee pudding."
It really was comparable to some kind of Cold War Evil Knievel-style stunt,
That time your mum launched a series of Exocet missiles from her secret underwater cunt.
'spoons-bogs-mum getting back to basics;
rapidly drenching 'thicks' like Nesqwik(s).
Dad's offering to teach striptease,
To the under threes.
the procession of big blokes queueing to stove mum in the gents is relentless.
meanwhile, dad's home alone, solemnly contemplating his own bentness.
Even when dad's sleeping or at rest,
He's still classified as a 'dormant sex pest.'
In the bogs-queue, there's genuine hysteria,
At the prospect of mum's infamous posterior.
When dad thinks about a room full of tots in assembly,
His balls spontaneously empty.
