At the end of the day, mum's proud and content,
Of her currently available 1000s of hours of extremely sexually explicit pornographic content.
Mum demands to be knobbed at between 100-2.5kHz
And finishes classed as ‘impressive spurts’
Dad's queing at the council offices seeking planning permission,
for a thimble-sized horror-bin to house his feeble emission.
The area from which mum used to crap,
Has been completely wiped off the map.
It's fair to say that mum's poo-HQ,
Appears far from looking new.
As the world descends further into war and chaos,
There is comfort in the knowledge mum will be, as usual, in the bogs, taking it up the anus.
There's your mum: tits in the blender,
Dad's in the betting shop (recently changed gender).
Mr Kipling: "Exceedingly Good Cakes,"
Mum: "Exceedingly Good Bukakkes."
Look, you've fucking missed a bit!
I want to be completely covered in shit.
