Be the prison sex-raffle prize.
Dad's looking longingly at kid's 'inbetweens',
during formal work events on Microsoft teams.
‘W-w-where do I g-go? W-where’s Mum?’ a fresh-faced bogs-lad on his first day stammered
Big Bloke Barry: ‘over there’s the queue lad, get in line: she’s having her bum jackhammered’.
Dad started seriously dressing up as a lady,
Since he fucked Channel 4's funny-poof Paul O'Grady.
First light, morning,
And bogs-blokes enter a period of mourning,
As it's dawning,
That mum's arsehole has begun contracting: an 'un-yawning.'
Mum's sole purpose and function,
Is to take it repeatedly up the crap junction.
Mum's sporting a series of new 'sex lesions'
on her biblically smelly broken nether regions.
Poor mum has to deal with the novices and noobs,
Who turn up at the bogs clutching some form of lubes.
Uh-oh,
Dad appears to have favoured an extremely minimal spring wardrobe.
Dad's putting "Gorillas in the Mist",
On his "great wank list".
