++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Made for Undead Chickens' Dub-Duck Diss-Step Dustup https://suno.com/playlist/77650604-a04c-4a2b-b184-e85afca2e53e Made with love ❤ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Boy! There's a duck in my waistcoat. Oh. Well, ain't I a handsome little dastard. Bang-Bang! Ker-pow! Ah-hahahahaha! Don Quacko, tinpot potentate, you strut and stamp and shout Your realm extends, or ends, when the extension cord runs out You crown yourself the final boss with barstools for a court; I'd say it’s grand larceny, but you're two grand short Two thousand cash? It's credits, pal. Your pitch is ranking rather rich I've pinched more liquid assets from a Georgian drainage ditch Pish, my friend, my jellied gent! That hat! That grand moustache! A five-cent chew in evening wear, demanding all the cash Shelf-stable and eternal! What a splendid claim to fame So's the gum beneath my loafer. Shall I book it just the same? Immortal? Splendid. Stand right there, you candied racketeer A thousand years of target practice. Bang! A new career! Duck hunt! Duck hunt! Check out these sitting ducks up front Bang-Bang! Bang-Bang! How do you do? It's a lovely day to take potshots at you Under those feathers, I hope you’ve got thick skin! Sorry, mothercluckers, papa’s got a mint to win Ain’t no one got the nerve! Ain’t no one got the pluck! I’m The Badquackler, ya mucks—and I’m here to hunt Ducks! Chief Coroner Drake, let's reassess those massive powers of deduction: You found sardines in candy. That's a hell of a production A corpse sits up; you fetch the saw to make those pesky forms agree A bold new school of medicine: "It died because of me." Then Don gets all the credit when you tally up the score; You just wheel his punchlines through a rotating refrigerator door Duck hunt! Duck hunt! Check out these sitting ducks up front Bang-Bang! Bang-Bang! How do you do? It's a lovely day to take potshots at you Under those feathers, I hope you’ve got thick skin! Sorry, mothercluckers, papa’s got a mint to win Ain’t no one got the nerve! Ain’t no one got the pluck! I’m The Badquackler, ya mucks—and I’m here to hunt Ducks! Now then. Buck. You slept through every act? What prodigious relaxation! You gave each duck a paragraph of detailed condemnation Their names, their clothes, their dinner plans; you kept a tidy tally The most attentive man asleep in any gin-soaked alley All that perspicacity! And what have you yet discerned? That asses stink and dames have tits? That's quite a lot you've learned When Dame Quacklyn passes and the critic changes tack: He slights her song, admires her chest, then tries his luck out back All that lofty hauteur for a "What's up, girl?" routine I've seen more subtle courtship from a nickel slot machine You sneer and then you simper. You appraise and then you plead. I'd call you chicken-hearted, but that's slander to the breed You saw through Quacko's racket? Good for you! A splendid start! Now watch a proper villain practice his peculiar art Four minutes spraying every duck that waddles into sight One little "bang" from me, now look who’s taking flight! Fetch a bracket, Boy. We'll hang his portrait just above the can At last, a room where people give a crap about the bucking man Duck hunt! Duck hunt! Check out these sitting ducks up front Bang-Bang! Bang-Bang! How do you do? It's a lovely day to take potshots at you Under those feathers, I hope you’ve got thick skin! Sorry, mothercluckers, papa’s got a mint to win Ain’t no one got the nerve! Ain’t no one got the pluck! I’m The Badquackler, ya mucks—and I’m here to hunt Ducks! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ © 2026 The Badfatler All rights reserved.
