Bad Weather for Ducks

All the lame ducks were swimming in the waters of your mucky wake

So you became the magnetic collector of hamstrung mallardians

Claimed you never meant to hook them off the dusty shelf

Then why did you travel to the lonely fairground

You pleaded you didn't mean to lead them down those dead end paths

But did you not hover around their nesting grounds

Did you not breed a feeble trail of crumbs

To keep them waddling deeper down the narrows

Please perverted piper don't deny how you trapped them

In the oily waters of your filthy slipstream

No time to wipe them clean or listen to their wounds

Or even scoff at their lame and injured quackeries

Kid yourself you were only waiting

for the golden goose

and the magic egg

and the holy barnyard