Oh, quelle surprise!
Mum's in the bogs, on her knees.
It seems from your records that you're a highly skilled pianist,
Underlined in bold: 'very, very deeply fist'.
Mum fondly remembers Russian biker Vlad "The Impaler,"
And how she had to intermittently reach for her inhaler.
Dad'll do anything for a bag of skittles,
But there's never any takers cos his willy's little(s).
At the bum-docs, mum's being economical with the truth,
When reporting both the sizing and number of blokes she's recently had up her poo-booth.
Last night bogs-blokes were throwing the proverbial kitchen sink,
At mum's little pink n stink.
On the rare occasions mum's performance levels drop,
Bogs-blokes know to reach for the emergency vats of dog-plop.
Apply a toilet levy to every other country on earth
Bogs-blokes are seeking "alternative routes,"
Following the destruction of mum's twat n' poo-chutes.
Father, in a lather;
He's experiencing a blokes-related trouser-palava.
