Blokes, alarmed mum might be going "off the boil",
Urgently airdrop in a load of dog-soil.
a small goat,
a french horn,
and a picture of King Lear:
the most interesting items i've found in your rear.
Mum's knob preference is "XXXXX-large",
But all dad has is a sort of weird "penis-mirage".
Has mum been thoroughly arse-nailed by dozens of well-hung blokes in a public toilet cubicle, her hair matted with spunk, smeared with dog-shit and in a state of undress?
Yes.
Mum's ringing Deliveroo,
To see if they can send out some fresh dog-poo.
Dad realises an existential junction,
Has arrived with his erectile dysfunction.
It's only halfway through free practice,
And the blokes have already knackered mum's bum-elastics.
Dad's gens,
Simply don't look like those of other men's.
Mum’s got a ‘responsive design’
In terms of being able to accommodate many different willy sizes in her behine
Mum's penned some beautifully profound poetry,
Entitled "When Blokes Really Plough it Into Me..."
