Dad's a persistent sexual voyeur,
Of the children's softplay foyer.
Mum's essentially mutton and not lamb;
And loves to accommodate javelin-of-spam.
Dad's been left in a competitive rage,
After entering the 'Prick-Tennis' Championships and getting knocked out at the semi-stage.
Docker's thumbs like an Atlantic Whaler,
Horrific throb-on like Vlad the impaler.
Your father: 'Hello, sailor!'.
Mum's widely known to be readily arseable;
Dad, though? Far below sexually passable.
Dad's nonce reputation: pretty fair,
As are the rumours he's "got fuck-all down there".
Dad’s wandering the earth
In search of increased girth
Mum's genitals? Those of an elderly, cheap, bogs-slut,
Dad's? Like a moldy old peanut.
Dad prints his stationery in Comic Sans fonts,
Because he's a fucking dangerous nonce.
Dad's 'Ryan Air' penis: poor construction, unappealing;
at just shy of 2 millimeters, it's reached its 'cervix ceiling'.
