EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORY!

GORDON RAMSAY!

VERSUS!

JULIA CHILD!

BEGIN!



And that's how you make a perfect risotto

Right, Mrs. Child, welcome to the grown-ups' table

I've got exactly two minutes and you should be grateful

Cause I'm in the f**king weeds with all these shows to pitch

I keep my ovens preheated and my pilots green-lit

I'm a seasoned skillet, you're a PAM-sprayed pan

I've got Michelin stars, you're like the Michelin Man

I'm rolling in dough, like Beef Wellington from hollering

And I'm shitting on you like I'm wack flows intolerant



Oh, isn't that a wonderful thing?

A grumpy little chef who thinks he can bring

Enough stuff to justify getting rough

With the butter-loving queen of the bourguignon boeuf

I rock hard as concrete on top of these bomb beats

Been chopping the pommes frites since you sucked on your mom's teats

I served America dutifully, and I sliced lard beautifully

I reigned supreme from shark repellent to charcuterie

Go on and cross your arms in that b-boy stance

And when it comes to haute cuisine, there's one F-word: France

Here's a nice amuse-bouche, take a poor abused youth

Set a thirty-year timer, voila! Huge douche!

You're a namby-pamby candy-assed pansy, Gordon Ramsay

You couldn't rap your way out of a pastry bag, understand me?

I laugh and create, you berate and destroy

But fear, my dear boy, is less scrumptious than joy



I'm glad that you got that off your giant, flabby chest

I'd call you a Donkey but you look more like Shrek

When the Iron Man chef busts a rhyme

I'll open up on you like a fine red wine

I'm a culinary innovator, you're no creator

Regurgitating French plates like a glorified translator

I'm fresh, you're past your expiration date

Alright, f**k it, blue team, drop the bouillabaisse (yes, chef!)

I've seen your little show and it sure ain't pretty

One part Big Bird, two parts Miss Piggy

You can't test me with your fatty recipes

Call your book "Mastering the Art of Heart Disease"

I mean, it's rubbish, (yes, chef!) look at page 408

Tell me, who the f**k (yes, chef!) wants to learn to cook calf brains?

You call these rhymes raw? (no, chef!)They're stale and soft

Now, here, take this jacket

Now give it back and f**k off!



Oh please, your defeat's guaranteed

Concede, I've got this in the bag, sous-vide (ha!)

Michelin indeed, you've done well for yourself

But as a person, you couldn't get a star on Yelp

I could freeze a steak with those frosted tips

What's with that bitter taste in every word from your lips?

You scream at women, while the fits that you're pitching

Make you the pissiest bitch in the kitchen

I'll pat you on the head, melt you, and stick it to ya

Anything's good with enough butter, boo-yah!

Oh, I'm so glad you spent this time with me

Now eat a dick, bon appétit



WHO WON?

WHO'S NEXT?

YOU DECIDE!

EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORY!