Dimensional portal-tear piss.
Amongst blokes, your mum's appallingly buggered-to-bits-bum has become highly prized,
No such joy for dad; his pathetic non-cock has been universally described as 'poorly sized.'
As a legendary bogs-slut, mum's open to passing on her wisdom and knowledge,
To younger bogs-sluts learning how to take the really large appendage.
Dad starts getting a small bit hard,
Just putting on his children's hospital access pass lanyard.
Dad’s protest that he ‘wasn’t fiddling, just shirt untucking’
Rendered less convincing by being pantsless ( ‘Donald Ducking’)
On the first bus of the morning after another night in the bogs, mum reaches for her bus pass,
And experiences a Proustian moment of realisation, as all the spunk dribbles out of her arse.
When your dad announced that he'd pickled his prick, he certainly wasn't bluffing;
your mum's encrusted trout farm cunt smells just like onion stuffing.
Mum's well primed,
To get bum-crimed.
Your dad's arsehole (whilst being stoved) made a strangely satisfying quack.
Your mum's cunt?
Jaw-droppingly slack.
Mum's on a strict diet,
Of spunk and dog-shite.
