Mum's at the butcher's, getting knobbed something awful,
Dad's barred, though, for trying to knob some offal.
Mum's interest is quickly piqued,
At the prospect of being thick-prickily "Greeked".
Mum deems ‘2nd class’
Any bloke capable of spunking less than a full pint glass.
Who'd a thunk it?
Mum's entirely covered in spunk/shit
Your dad's arsehole ruined at a rate of 2400 a month,
he signed a contract, and forgot to read the 'bumf'.
Mum: on the junk.
Dad: can't spunk.
Bogs-data remains heavily classified,
As to how often and how much, mum's poo-pipe has been cream-pied.
There's nothing there, just a single, really thick pubic hair. Forgive me if I stare.
Dad prints his stationery in Comic Sans fonts,
Because he's a fucking dangerous nonce.
Mum: face pressed up against the Armitage Shanks
Dad: furtive bushes playground wanks
