Luyện nghe bài hát Gordon Ramsay vs Julia Child

EPIC RAP OF HISTORY!
RAMSAY!
VERSUS!
CHILD!
BEGIN!

[Gordon
And how you make a perfect risotto
Right, Mrs. Child, to the grown-ups' table
I've got exactly two minutes and you should be
Cause I'm in the fucking weeds with all shows to pitch
I keep my ovens preheated and my green-lit
I'm a seasoned skillet, you're a pan
I've got stars, you're like the Michelin Man
I'm rolling in dough, like Wellington from hollering
And I'm on you like I'm wack flows intolerant

Child]
Oh, isn't a wonderful thing?
A grumpy little chef who thinks he can
Enough stuff to justify rough
With the butter-loving queen of the bourguignon
I rock as concrete on top of these bomb beats
Been chopping the pommes since you sucked on your mom's teats
I served America dutifully, and I sliced lard
I reigned supreme from shark to charcuterie
Go on and your arms in that b-boy stance
And when it comes to haute cuisine, one F-word: France
Here's a nice amuse-bouche, a poor abused youth
Set a thirty-year timer, voila! douche!
You're a namby-pamby pansy, Gordon Ramsay
You couldn't rap your way out of a pastry bag, me?
I laugh and create, you berate and
But fear, my boy, is less scrumptious than joy

Ramsay]
I'm that you got that off your giant, flabby chest
I'd call you a Donkey but you look more like
the Iron Man chef busts a rhyme
I'll open up on you like a fine red
I'm a innovator, you're no creator
Regurgitating French plates a glorified translator
I'm fresh, past your expiration date
Alright, it, blue team, drop the bouillabaisse (yes, chef!)
I've your little show and it sure ain't pretty
One part Big Bird, two parts Piggy
You can't me with your fatty recipes
Call your Mastering the art of heart disease
I mean its (yes, chef!)
look at 408
tell me who the (yes, chef!)
wants to learn to cook calf
You call these raw? (no, chef!)
they're and soft
now here take jacket
now it back and fuck off!