text: EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORY!
  GORDON RAMSAY!
  VERSUS!
  JULIA CHILD!
  BEGIN!
  And thats how you make a perfect risotto
  Right, Mrs. Child, welcome to the grown-ups’ table
  Ive got exactly two minutes and you should be grateful
  Cause Im in the fucking weeds with all these shows to pitch
  I keep my ovens preheated and my pilots green-lit
  Im a seasoned skillet, youre a PAM-sprayed pan
  Ive got Michelin stars, youre like the Michelin Man
  Im rolling in dough, like Beef Wellington from hollering
  And Im shitting on you like Im wack flows intolerant
  Oh, isnt 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 moms 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, theres one F-word: France
  Heres a nice amuse-bouche, take a poor abused youth
  Set a thirty-year timer, voila! Huge douche!
  Youre a namby-pamby candy-assed pansy, Gordon Ramsay
  You couldnt 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
  Im glad that you got that off your giant, flabby chest
  Id call you a Donkey but you look more like Shrek
  When the Iron Man chef busts a rhyme
  Ill open up on you like a fine red wine
  Im a culinary innovator, youre no creator
  Regurgitating French plates like a glorified translator
  Im fresh, youre past your expiration date
  Alright, fuck it, blue team, drop the bouillabaisse 
  I’ve seen your little show and it sure aint pretty
  One part Big Bird, two parts Miss Piggy
  You cant test me with your fatty recipes
  Call your book Mastering the Art of Heart Disease
  I mean, its rubbish, look at page 408
  Tell me, who the fuck wants to learn to cook calf brains?
  You call these rhymes raw? Theyre stale and soft
  Now, here, take this jacket…
  Now give it back and fuck off!
  Oh please, your defeats guaranteed
  Concede, Ive got this in the bag, sous-vide 
  Michelin indeed, youve done well for yourself
  But as a person, you couldnt get a star on Yelp
  I could freeze a steak with those frosted tips
  Whats with that bitter taste in every word from your lips?
  You scream at women, but the fits that youre pitching
  Make you the pissiest bitch in the kitchen
  Ill pat you on the head, melt you, and stick it to ya
  Anythings good with enough butter, boo-yah!
  Oh, Im 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!