Outside the bogs, dad sees the snaking lines of blokes queueing to take mum from behind,
And he can't help but get the sense that, in his marriage, he's been marginally sidelined.
it isn't the milk of human kindness -
that's a different kind of milk seeping from your mother's vaginus.
Dad heading to the playground, to try on his luck,
And offer parents a tenner, to lend him their kids for a fuck.
what a relief!
there's a great big stinking cock under that fig leaf!
One would have thought by now, mum must have exhausted the catalogue,
Of depraved sexual acts one can perform in the bog.
Mum's published a rather fascistic charter,
Detailing the specifics of how blokes should screw her up the farter.
Mum: on the junk.
Dad: can't spunk.
mum's nightly pounding in the gents': savage.
dad's sexual performance: well below average.
Dad's still really into early Tracy Chapman,
Because he's a small willied man.
Swap my tits and my genitals back
