We all know the Fuck-You-Mummies,
The ones you try your hardest to ignore…
Marmite-free hair and perfect skin, getting through the day without gin,
Don’t they know parenthood’s what alcohol is for…?
I can’t stand those Fuck-You-Mummies,
The ones who look at you down their nose.
‘Coz you can’t be arsed with stay-and-play, and wear pyjamas for most of the day,
And make breakfast, lunch and dinner out of toast…
I hate those Fuck-You-Mummies,
Whose children eat salad through choice….?!
And don’t speak until they’re spoken to, or laugh when they’ve broken you,
And never make weapons out of their toys.
I loathe those Fuck-You-Mummies,
Looking smug as their kids sit and play.
Speaking three different languages, making their own cucumber sandwiches,
And actually ‘doing’ what their parents say…?
I’ve no time for the Fuck-You-Mummies,
Who don’t allow TV or eat anything containing wheat.
The CBeebies bedtime hour, is my only chance for a bastard shower,
While my daughter eats sofa raisins and licks her own feet.
So Fuck You you Fuck-You-Mummies,
I’m not perfect and that’s okay.
My child’s hilarious and quirky, unpredictable and always dirty,
And I wouldn’t have it any other Fucking way.