Staple me onto your crotch.
Dad's tiny willy issues: insurmountable,
Mum: mountable.
Mao Zedong
my ''poos-prong'.
Routine bogs-shift for mum, getting nailed up the farter,
Dad skulking around outside, persona non-grata.
It wouldn't require formal analysis by Carl Jung,
To suspect the root of dad's issues are from being so poorly hung.
Dad's queued up a kid-vid playlist,
For a good long fiddle with his "prick that, technically, doesn't physically exist".
Mum's not a proponent of 'American exceptionalism'
She'll allow blokes of every nation to cover her in jism
Breaking news from the bogs live desk:
Mum's shitter now "warzone-esque".
Mum's at the butcher's, getting knobbed something awful,
Dad's barred, though, for trying to knob some offal.
Mum's one of life's people pleasers,
Particularly the very well hung geezers.
Many bogs-blokes' worlds collapsed,
After mum catastrophically prolapsed.
