with her prehensile twat, mum regularly keeps crowds of men in thrall;
poor old dad can't get it up at all.
When your dad first saw it he tried to abscond
(Philip Schofield's dribbly horror-frond).
The area from which mum used to crap,
Has been completely wiped off the map.
Dad's prone to telling a porkie,
About the size of his 'stalkie.'
When dad's feeling randy,
He offers kids drugged-candy.
Bedsit dad's listening to the best of the Lightening Seeds,
Whilst stimulating himself with anal beads.
Bogs-blokes are using promo codes,
For free Friday night access to mum's poo-abode.
Straight out the traps,
Mum demands liquid craps.
Mum's one of the favourites to win this year's 'Sex-Factor,'
Dad in lowly bedsit room measuring his prick with compass and protractor.
Dad's one of the real big-wigs,
In the community of willy-not-bigs.
