[Intro]
EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORY!
GORDON RAMSAY!
VERSUS!
JULIA CHILD!
BEGIN!
[Verse 1: Gordon Ramsay]
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 fucking 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
[Verse 2: Julia Child]
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
EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORY!
GORDON RAMSAY!
VERSUS!
JULIA CHILD!
BEGIN!
[Verse 1: Gordon Ramsay]
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 fucking 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
[Verse 2: Julia Child]
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
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!