Location: area where it's shitty-shitty,
Condition: fucked to bitty-bitty.
A nurse rushed out, she needed an urgent, quiet word with me,
Mum's having to undergo anal reconstruction surgery.
Item #541 found lodged in the depths of mum's cavernous twat.
It's a porcelain scale model of Eastender's Adam Woodyatt.
Bedsit dad's watching re-runs of Supermarket Sweep,
Whilst pushing increasingly larger vegetables up his poo-keep.
"your country needs you! for an anal fisting."
quick as a flash, dad's enlisting.
There's invariably a panoply,
Of visitors in mum's shit-canopy.
Mum has an eye for bogs-blokes who are going places,
Who combine size, stamina and can produce loose faeces.
Mum runs out of patience,
If bogs-blokes forget to refill the Dog-Shit Stations.
Dad's replied to all those spam emails,
Offering unlikely solutions to erection fails.
The council's been forced to build an extension on the bogs for storing
The excessive quantities of lube necessary for mum's round-the-clock big-bloke-bum-boring
