Split arse.

Fingers in your,
Mum.
Get her,
The family way.

Ip, dip, dogshit,
You are not it.

Winky-wanky-woo-woo.
Bournemouth.

Hey, Pakistani,
Does your granny,
Have a fanny?
Does it smel?
Fuckin’ ‘ell!

Beadle.

There’s a party,
On the hill;
Will you come?
With your own,
Bread and butter,
And your own,
Cream bun?

Watch out;
Beadle’s about.

BAUMGARTLINGER!!!

Express delivery,
Of a cunt punt,
So direct that,
Even UPS would cringe.

Sweaty keff.
Horace knows,
The dirty bugger,
For he certainly has,
A hairy arse.

Arse hair.
Sara Hire.
Anagram.
Gamanar.

Cut your toe nails,
With a broken bottle shard.
Eat your offal,
For a price of course.
Four pound twenny-seven.

Dick in dick action.
Hahahaha-haha,
Hahaha-hahahaha-ha!
Spastic!

Gotta keep on,
Pumpin’ it up,
‘Cause I love it!
Not too much though;
It might pop.

All cyclists,
Should be shot:
Change my mind…

Don’t stand,
Don’t stand so,
Don’t stand so,
Close to me,
Whilst I’m trying,
To take a piss.
Makes me feel,
Uncomfortable.

Tiny penis.

Sddddddret.

Don’t come round,
To my house,
If you want to,
Carry on living.
I’ll stab you,
Without warning,
Mid conversation,
With a frozen turd.

Farts stink.
So do farts.
And farts as well.

The week in whole,
With Enrique’s mole.
Dripping with satire,
Like Ronni Ancona’s minge.

Colt peacemaker,
Up your sphincter,
With finger poised,
Firmly on trigger.
Gerrit pulled, lad.
Intestines and shit,
Everywhere!

The horny lesbian,
Rubbed her clit,
With a cheese grater,
Then poured salt,
Onto it,
For good measure.

Crumpets for brekkie,
Layered with marge.
We have none of that;
Only lard.
That’ll do, boyo!

The week in bits,
With Jordan’s tits.
Pouring with empathy,
Like Mother Theresa’s cunt.

Wise men once said:
“Never be sorry,
For flying with your flock”.
A load of shite,
If you ask us.

A bottle of Frij,
Gave me flu.
A shameful loss,
That warm summer night.

For Uncle John,
Needs a wee,
Against a tree,
The filthy sod!

Diary of a fag hag;
The woofter said no.
What could I do?
Hide in my shed.

In shit I trod,
After eating chilli,
Just for t’craic.
A chip off the old block.

Into your love I drop;
Stache like Chris Kamara.
Deliver a kick,
To ol’ Noriyuki,
Morita’s dead ass!

A flight to Canada;
God knows what for.
It’ll take a while.

For all that it was,
To beat your drum,
In memory of the asinine,
And make your call,
For the devout to fall.
Oh, so dreary!

Ever had a wart,
On your bellend, sir?
Sex with a kangaroo;
A wondrous drug.
LSD and Ethanol.
“Away you go,”
The fat bitch said.
She ain’t sorry,
For the pain she brought,
When she sat on your face,
For three hours.

I climb,
To the top,
Of a tall building,
And toss myself off.

Maybe, next time,
You’ll choose,
Your monotony breaker,
A little more wisely,
And empathetically?

A man identifies himself,
As having one arm,
Yet he has two.
He requests that,
An arm be removed,
So that he may become,
What he feels he is.
Is he sane?

Transgender anyone? 🤔

Toot, toot,
Goes the farmer’s bum.
He has wind.
Dodgy curry last night.
Glindornaphrom