Gordon Ramsay Vs Julia Child Lyrics - 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 

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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 

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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!