https://suno.com/playlist/77650604-a04c-4a2b-b184-e85afca2e53e -------------------------------------------------- ‘Scuse me In the back here ‘cause I kinda just came to, Must say I truly hope my snores at lazy bars weren't loud to you, because such bad flow in a row last hour surely overpowered. Please enjoy from me this full-ass glass of tasty whiskey sour. I’m the type o’ duck you maybe shoudn’t a woken up, because my name is Buck I come to fuck with all you buttercups. You Gonna wish you’d drunk some more so bitches best to bottoms up, and then a pen dependent bender’s come for all you lazy fucks. Donald Quacko’s spatulas that weirdly smell of rectum, best proceed from premise this shows where he oft likes to collect ‘em. Don’t neglect him, he’s the beak to beat or is that butt to butt because I hear he knows Pond’s Double-Oh face and likes it quite a lot. No-name Bratsche may be tuned but we call that a fiddle. Widdle girl you’ll catch your death of cold you don’t cover your middle. Hammer pants you dance in may just have your million fan’s a-raven but except for alopecia ducks are not too oft clean-shaven. Slucky’s feelin’ plucky now but he’s not getting any thinner. You’ll see Poultry Girls next in a photo he shares of his dinner. True that in his rap itself he’s toying with his favorite Doll ‘Cause can't buy an American Girl when so far from major mall. Quacklash tried to get DoorDash to deliver pizza to her dungeon. Someone fond of Puddles wanted pee that reeked of extra onions. Rebel heart or not you know some ducks should never dance for leisure One we heard absurdly did and I thought it some kind of seizure. Seamus came to shame us drank some stout and showed his anus. Mumbled bout a swan in Galway, went and puked out in the hallway. Which drunk gal brought to us the two ducks one box metaphor? Sounds more like two girls one cup threw up and suavely asked for more That’s not dark liquor that you taste afraid that’s Don’s colostomy I wouldn’t guessed but nasty breath expressed when you sat next to me. Pecking Order? You’re a duck, yet hate ducks most confusingly. The situation makes for me to doubt your perspicacity. So what’s your name? You never said. I wonder why I thought that mattered. Doesn’t as it wasn’t much a beat as just a pitter patter. Did the British bloke have handle? Candle in the wind that clown. Out in the alley earning cash by selling beak-jobs half a crown. A British rap so bad it sinks itself in seconds ‘neath the brine. That beats the Spanish armada way back in fifteen eighty nine. [Instrumental] Splooge McDuck slid into first and then back off the stage in squirts. He ate a few bad tacos Quacko’s bar makes from old liverwurst The crazy man who claims he’s Litch here dropped his license, says it’s Mitch. Before they dragged him to asylum foamed at mouth began to twitch. Speaking of Mitch, the shrieking of Pish proved he was here for Make a Wish. Stabbed just like Rushdie when rhymes crusty. Get checked mate this knife is rusty Dame Quacklin showed a lot of pluck. Her looks perhaps saw me dumbstruck. It’s sad that she gave rap a whirl. I like your Teas though What’s up, guurl? TuQuack had a backing track and still can’t run that sad shit back. The flashbacks that I have of that flow had me calling Smalls on my cell phone. Who the hell’s the Breadcrumb Gang? Did Hansel maybe write that shit? Your bars like candy houses only made to Trap wayward fat kids? Well, I suggest like calories you cut your writer’s salaries. Best to avoid the diabetes and the paid-for rapping please. Gladstone? More like Home Alone. Your dullness be the death of me. Please bring the paddles, silly Gander’s wanderings like lava streams. He doesn’t want the cash, but leave him fifty for our nap. Go buy yourself some crystal meth and hide it in your silly cap. Best keep it for the energy and shake the deadly lethargy and write some bars if you feel lucky ‘cause you dull, can we agree? In closing, I don’t need no bracket - Ladder to the Master’s Jacket. I see through Don Quacko’s racket. Operates the bar in black. It needs the cash infusion made here. All you suckers played for spite I near my exit, Quacklin’ let’s go This is where I drop the mic
