Gordon Ramsay VS Julia Child

[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