Lyrics Gordon Ramsay vs Julia Child - Epic Rap Battles of History
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
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
whack
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
reign
supreme
from
shark
repellent
to
charcuterie
Go
on
and
cross
your
arms
in
that
B-boy
stance
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-ass
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,
fuck
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
fuck
(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
fuck
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,
but
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,
booyah!
Oh,
I'm
so
glad
you
spent
this
time
with
me
Now
eat
a
dick,
bon
appetit...
WHO
WON?
WHO'S
NEXT?
YOU
DECIDE!
EPIC
RAP...
BATTLES!
OF
HISTORY!
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