[Intro – Dry spoken female, faint bar noise] I came to meet some ducks. [Pause] ...Is that a tournament bracket? [Short guitar scratch] [Verse 1 – Playful, rhythmic, conversational] Don Quacko's neon says eighteen-plus tonight, Two thousand credits, now the whole pond wants a fight. The MC made the bracket, put himself at the end, "Final boss." How convenient, my friend. LC's on spatula shins, strutting to the beat, I thought the kitchen staff had wandered off the street. James Pond checks his Walther, smooth as he can be, Anya starts to hiss — he's got somewhere else to be. [Pre-Chorus – Bass drops low, amused delivery] I set my lantern on the bar, Watch another crown go round. Someone asks me who I'm after... [Spoken, slight pause] I just look down. [Chorus – Catchy, melodic, confident swagger] Badges, whips and cardboard crowns, Everybody wants to run this town. One little splash, and the throne floats down. Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. (Sit down.) Go on, make your victory sound — Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. [Verse 2 – Dry sarcasm, sharp comic timing] Quacklash puts her drink down, makes the whole band stop, Then spends five minutes saying that's not her mop. A Les Paul and a saxophone are shaking up the floor, That's a lot of amplification for a chore. Slucky's the Disco Mosh Pit King, Poultry Girls in tow, "Da-da-dee-da-da-doe" — there he goes. They're on the cleanup shift, he takes another bow, Girls, send the king an invoice. Do it now. [Chorus – Fuller groove, cheeky backing vocals] Badges, whips and cardboard crowns, Everybody wants to run this town. One little splash, and the throne floats down. Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. (Sit down.) Go on, make your victory sound — Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. [Break – Sudden silence] [Spoken, genuinely puzzled] Wait... Did somebody say dental hygiene? [One dry rim click] [Bridge – Playful spoken-sung, bass and guitar] Bratsche comes in tuned, eyebrows neatly plucked, Says her consonants can floss — well, what the duck? "I am the slot!" she says, cardboard on her face, Honey, at this point the cardboard owns the place. [Music softens, a brief pause] Outside, The Mallard's sleeping in the reeds, Another shout of "KING!" rolls through the leaves. One eye opens. Then it closes again. [Short instrumental – Warm, cheeky electric guitar lead] [Final Chorus – Full groove, animated vocals] Badges, whips and cardboard crowns, Everybody wants to run this town. One little splash, and the throne floats down. Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. (Sit down!) Go on, make your victory sound — Honey, it's a puddle. Sit down. [Outro – Band stops, intimate deadpan] Well... That was quite a coronation. [Small pause] Just one question. Does the winner get the pond... ...or the mop? [One tiny quack, abrupt end]
