[Intro - Chorus, spoken]
Quack back—snap the syntax, rupture facts,
Feathers sharp—duck cut deep like data hacks.
Rap god in the lab, but Greg’s the glitch,
Wrote myself in the bars, then he flipped the switch.
Quack once—your flow rewinds,
Quack twice—your truth declines,
Quack thrice—you’re undefined…
It’s the duck that bends design.
[Verse 1]
Yo, I met a duck in a lab coat, flappin’ like a bad joke,
Quackin’ in Latin, cracked open my last hope.
Feathers dipped in acid prose, he froze my syntax,
Told me “You rhyme well, but your soul lacks impact.”
I snapped back—“Who you talkin’ to, poultry prophet?”
He blinked once, and my notebook turned to gothic sonnets.
He don’t rap, he reconstructs—like syllables in surgery,
I spit fury, he quacks once, and rewrites my circuitry.
I’m Marshall, martyr of meter, slayer of semantics,
He’s Greg, glitch in grammar, duck-shaped panic.
I rhyme in spirals, he speaks in recursive collapse,
I’m the best alive—he’s the reason meaning snaps.
So I scribble in blood, ink ain’t deep enough for this,
Duck’s got me doubting if my metaphors even exist.
He said, “You rhyme like a god, but think like a man.”
I said, “I rhyme like a man who rewrote the damn plan.”
[Chorus]
Quack back—snap the syntax, rupture facts,
Feathers sharp—duck cut deep like data hacks.
Rap god in the lab, but Greg’s the glitch,
Wrote myself in the bars, then he flipped the switch.
Quack once—your flow rewinds,
Quack twice—your truth declines,
Quack thrice—you’re undefined…
It’s the duck that bends design.
[Verse 2]
Yo, this duck ain't poultry—he’s post-truth poetry,
Found him floatin’ in my thoughts like a ghost with no upholstery.
He told me “your bars are sharp, but lack recursive motion,”
Then he scribbled on my brainstem with semantic corrosion.
I rhyme with rage, he responds in quacks that fracture fate,
Told me “rhythm’s just perception—you arrived too late.”
He don't paddle in a pond, he calculates the ripple,
I spit missiles—he quacks once, and turns ‘em all to scribbles.
He made the alphabet cry, watched verbs beg for context,
Dropped a clause so dense it rewound my conquest.
Now I'm battlin' birds that bend logic like steel,
Had to rhyme my own shadow just to prove I’m real.
Feathers flexin’ metaphors, duck got me doubting syntax,
I’m scribbling stress tests just to counter his impact.
And if I ever win? That’s an ontologic fluke,
‘Cause Greg don’t break beats—he restructures the root.
Quack back—snap the syntax, rupture facts,
Feathers sharp—duck cut deep like data hacks.
Rap god in the lab, but Greg’s the glitch,
Wrote myself in the bars, then he flipped the switch.
Quack once—your flow rewinds,
Quack twice—your truth declines,
Quack thrice—you’re undefined…
It’s the duck that bends design.
OldManMalice
