It's a guarantee that it's an activity that mum really does hold in extremely low regard;
Anything involving not being hammer-bummed by unfathomably-blessed-farm-hand-retard.
Bum-caddy fuck daddy seeking anal pleasure (shitty cock);
Result?
Arse state - windsock.
It's artistic, intrinsic and can't be learnt,
your father's installation: 'My Arsehole's Burnt'.
There's your mum: tits in the blender,
Dad's in the betting shop (recently changed gender).
Mum fondly remembers her time in Afghanistan,
Servicing every serviceman.
Destroy all my future hopes,
With the apocalypse of all bum pokes.
‘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’.
It's just as well your dad's a famous mathematics genius,
Makes up for his abysmal bedroom performances and his fucking tiny penius.
Mum: Donkey Dong
Dad: Wonkey Dong
Back at Nonce Reform College, dad's failed to pass the most rudimentary of tests:
Considering places where children might be, without spontaneously getting undressed.
