I Want a New Duck
[I Want A New Drug/Huey Lewis & The News/1984]
I want a new duck.
One that won’t try to bite.
One that won’t chew a hole in my socks.
One that won’t quack all night.
I want a new duck.
One with big webbed feet.
One that knows how to wash my car,
And keep his room real neat.
One that won’t raid the ice box.
One that’ll stay in shape.
One that’s never gonna try
To migrate or escape,
Or I’ll tie him up with duck tape.
I want a new duck.
A mallard, I think.
One that won’t make a mess of my house,
Or build a nest in the bathroom sink.
I want a new duck.
One that won’t steal my beer.
One that won’t stick his bill in my mail.
One that knows «The duck stops here.»
One that won’t drive me crazy
Waddling all around.
One who’ll teach me how to swim,
And help me not to drown.
And show me how to get down.
«How to get down», baby. Get it?
(quack, quack, quack, quack, quack)
I want a new duck.