Bogs-blokes doing slow claps,
At the emergence of mum's prolapse.
As long as dad's pulse remains flickering,
He'll be contemplating designs for kid's sexy knickering.
Mum's off to the GP,
Seeking clarity,
On how and where from she omits poo and wee.
Bogs-blokes' tongues are a-wag,
With rumours that a really thick bloke, while scuttling mum, was able to feel a tiny bit of drag.
It's a tried and tested combo,
It's dad, playground, and mini-speedos.
It’s Christmas time, Santa’s coming
Mum’s festive wish? Yep: ‘Smash my bum in’
Mum's been screwed by many enormously hung men,
Dad? Willy size: grain of Uncle Ben's.
Mum will often refer to the bogs hive mind,
For innovation in being screwed in the behind.
Mum's organised a commemorative 'gun salute,'
Involving blokes firing their canon's up her poo-chute.
Presenting mum with a two finger Kit Kat,
Is recognised code for one up the bum, and one up the twat.
