For goodness sake.
Oh, quelle surprise! Mum's in the bogs, on her knees.
It seems from your records that you're a highly skilled pianist, Underlined in bold: 'very, very deeply fist'.
Mum fondly remembers Russian biker Vlad "The Impaler," And how she had to intermittently reach for her inhaler.
Dad'll do anything for a bag of skittles, But there's never any takers cos his willy's little(s).
At the bum-docs, mum's being economical with the truth, When reporting both the sizing and number of blokes she's recently had up her poo-booth.
Last night bogs-blokes were throwing the proverbial kitchen sink, At mum's little pink n stink.
On the rare occasions mum's performance levels drop, Bogs-blokes know to reach for the emergency vats of dog-plop.
Apply a toilet levy to every other country on earth
Bogs-blokes are seeking "alternative routes," Following the destruction of mum's twat n' poo-chutes.
Father, in a lather; He's experiencing a blokes-related trouser-palava.
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