Lyrics of 'Gordon Ramsay VS Julia Child' by Epic Rap Battles Of History

[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!

[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
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

[Gordon Ramsay]
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!

[Julia Child]
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
Boo-yah!
Oh, I'm so glad you spent this time with me
Now eat a dick!
Bon appétit