Utterly destroy my arsehole.
After Friday night Happy Hour,
Mum's arsehole resembles an abattoir.
Mum's entertaining a coachload of blokes from Australia,
Who are basically barbecuing her arsehole and genitalia.
Mum's one of life's Christmas Grinches,
If she doesn't get properly stuffed with inches.
Dad's entering Masterchef and hoping to be the winner,
He's sure to make an impact with his lovely roast dog-shit dinner.
Mum's always had a serious appreciation of the music, art and culture of the deep south;
Yet heavily trumping this is her insistence on farmhands in her fanny, arse, and mouth.
Dad's chances of sexual intercourse are paltry,
Hence, his bedsit evenings listening to Del Amitri.
Mum emerges from end of heavy bogs session looking like she's been in the Noel's House Party 'Gunge Tank'
Dad: transaction declined at the Wank Bank
Mum's got a nuclear-test cunt
(unholy terminal glow),
Dad's got radiation sickness
(his fuck stump still won't grow).
Dad's long-term and very keen interest in junior level tennis,
Is known by the police and understood to be a borderline sex-offennis.
