RD_Squarespace_About RD_grn3.jpg

Hailing from the great land of the south
I’ve got a ball-point in my hand and a ciggy in my mouth
I am a beautiful wonder of a man to behold
A national treasure made out of solid fool’s gold

I’m so artsy-fartsy that every time I pass gas
A Picasso painting shoots out of my ass
My poetry is better than anything you’ve read
With punchlines that stick like chewy in ya head

I’m as drunk as a tramp and as carefree as a tampon
I’ll stamp on your toes and turn ya attic lamp on
I’m ruder than Rodney, cruder than Motley
nuder than a Tudor getting rooted by a cockney

My vice and glory are multiplying like rabbits
Like a convent’s laundry I’ve got heaps of dirty habits
I’m more bang for your buck than a one dollar A-bomb
that’ll blow ya back the fuck to wherever you are from

My dick is bigger than a great white shark*
*Not to scale (like the fence in Jurassic Park)
That was a pun, y’know a double entendre
If you don't like it how ‘bout you piss off to another genre

’Cos I'm realer than a dream and smarter than Urkle
I’m cooler than McQueen hiking through the arctic circle
I roll around town in my piece of shit car, Wait,
I think my dick stopped breathing. Do you know CPR?

I’ve got more street cred than Squizzy Taylor
And seen more bloodshed than Vlad the Impaler
(Not actual blood though, just stuff on TV
Which can be pretty realistic as I'm sure you’ll agree)

But when I bend over you better put your sunnies on
‘Cos my arse is the place where the sun shines from
I’m not a fashion victim, it’s a victim of me
I buried that bitch in the pet cemetery

When it came back to life, I killed it once more
by feeding it to a savage herd of hungry wild boar
I’m awesome — More ore than Rio Tinto
I’ll have ya fallin’ faster than Clapton’s baby from a window

I’ll blow your mind to smithereens like a vintage Luger
and appear in ya sweet dreams like Freddy Kruger
Now as the plot thickens like a book by Dickens
Your thoughts’ll run around like a pack o’ headless chickens

’Cos I’m the guy who makes all the ladies feel moist
So hang your soaking undies out on ya Hills Hoist
The name’s Rex Durkin, my mates call me Durko
and I’m writing this poem when I should be at work-o