Dad's wanking over cash machines outside Barclays Bank, Clywd.
In a situation police and lookers consider observed considered 'fluid'.
Mum: thousands of blokes never seen again after entering her "Bermuda triangle"
Dad: penis more "imperceptibly slightly raised area" than "dangle"
No kidding,
Dad's gone 'kidding.'
The only time mum's threatened to go on strike?
After bogs-blokes failed to ride her like the village bike.
During difficult times, mum's "life raft",
Has always been her natural ability with men's shaft.
Come end of shift, what's on all bogs-blokes' lips,
Is the flavour combination of mum's bowel drips.
The world's biggest pricks queue up at the entrance to mum's bum-bum,
Dad's between-legs effort? An atom.
It's Halloween, a night of goblins and ghosts,
For mum, it's a routine evening of nobbins and spit-roasts.
Mum's really cooking up a storm in the kitchen,
She's getting screwed by the Postman (and will probably need stitchin').
There is a sombre mood,
As blokes gather reflectively around the area from which mum once pooed.
