Luyện nghe bài hát Gordon Ramsay vs Julia Child

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

[Gordon
And that's how you make a perfect
Right, Mrs. Child, to the grown-ups' table
I've got two minutes and you should be grateful
Cause I'm in the fucking weeds with all these to pitch
I keep my ovens preheated and my pilots
I'm a seasoned skillet, a PAM-sprayed pan
I've got stars, you're like the Michelin Man
I'm rolling in dough, like Beef from hollering
And I'm shitting on you I'm wack flows intolerant

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

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