Avatar Chris and Ian’s Rap Battle – Round 2

So here we have it.

Three years have passed since the world was shook by the resonating words of these titans of industry, these monoliths of maniacal word mastery. Ian “I was eating pie” McBugle and Sheriff Rockingham aka Chris Marshall, both ex members of pioneering genre-bending super group ‘The Rapples’, are back for another scintillating slice of lyrical suppositories.

But the real question is are they still up to scratch? Can you still expect the old and beardy to reach the dizzying heights of previous years? What can you expect from two almost middle aged men who spend their evenings sitting down and nothing more? Can they, in the eternal words of Kevindo Menendez, still mack it?

Of course they can, you fools!

Tickets have been sold out for ages but you lucky, lucky people get to hear the whole thing as it happens right here on Beans FM.

With a phat new stack of material, Chris is a seasoned pro and ready to take the stage once again. He’s got horses and a drinks cabinet full of dazzling wordplay and witty observations in his corner. He’s never been both fresher and on the fashions. McBugle, however, loves to play with people’s expectations. He’s slumped, unshaved, walking like the weight of the world is hanging on his shoulders only to shrug off his coat and flash a smile that could blind a box full of puppies.

Take a seat, ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be a bumpy ride. Over to you, boys…

11 comments on “Chris and Ian’s Rap Battle – Round 2

  • This is going to happen. I’m resigned to that now. I’m just sitting here doing some breathing exercises before we start. You can’t rush the magic.

  • OK, I’m ready. Drop the beat.

    Yo, yo, yo, this is the story all about how
    Your sorry ass flip turned upside down
    So why not dip a biscuit, just sit right there
    I’ll tell you why your hopes of winning will lead you nowhere
    You start a rap battle, you’re picking a fight
    McBugle turns his brightest hopes to darkest night
    Screwing up his chances like some fool
    Now the Sheriff’s gonna take you back down to school
    Slammin’ fresher beats and spittin’ sicker rhymes
    Sucker’s gettin’ blasted back to caveman times
    You picked a Rockingham fight, now ya mom got scared
    So come and hit me back with some wack rap if you dare

  • Slippin’ and trippin’ all over yo words
    You think you’re better than me? Man, that’s absurd
    I seen yo rhymes and boy they ain’t fresh
    Seen livelier things in a run down Little Chef
    Your eyes are deceived and I’m well relieved
    You ain’t no Adventures of Stevie V
    You a pet peeve, already fricasseed
    I’m telling you now there’s no way you’ll succeed
    I’ve come for my cap, I’m taking it back
    Time to slap you up like a top British chap
    Brian Cox in the making, there ain’t no mistakin’
    Me an ma cooks are gonna fry yo bacon.

  • Fumblin’ and bumblin’, you’re all out of ideas
    You can’t pay the debts on your rappin’ arrears
    Your face keeps writing checks that your talent can’t cash
    Your couplets are on life support, your similes are gash
    Keep on crawling back, I’ll keep serving you the truth
    That your talent keeps on shrinking like the memories of youth
    Your lyrics are disshevelled, you rap backwards through a hedge
    So I won’t push you cos you’re close…to…the…edge
    But you slap me up, son, and I’ll smack you back down
    These rings on my fingers match my blingin’ rap crown
    You look but get your hands off, it’s one you’ll never wear
    I be sittin’ on my throne while you just cry it isn’t fair.

  • Royalty ain’t right, keep on dreamin’ fool
    Get back to your floater in the basic rap pool
    You’re not even swimming, you’re gasping for air
    There’s no style left in your parched rapping flare
    I seen you treading water like Goldie Hawn’s daughter
    Time to take you out and back to the slaughter
    I’m hard cut and pressed like a pair o’ fresh trouser
    I’m sewing up couplets like a young Doogie Howser
    Live a life with no limits and no time for chumps
    Yo pedestrian rapping game has since hit the slumps
    You’re never coming back from this epic defeat
    I’m already done when your feet hit the streets

  • In the rapping pool? Yeah, I’m living my best life
    My lilo’s full of lyrics and these sunny beats are rife
    Your empty threats will only make your rapping life harder
    While I sit back in Ray Ban shades with my Pina Colada
    The trouble is you know the rules but you can’t play the game
    You think you’re front and centre but you’re never in the frame
    Living life inside the box while the Sheriff is the rebel
    Yo, my rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble
    Time to lose your sorry frown and attitude so slack
    Even though you can’t conceive of insults that hit back
    You keep trying, drown yourself in this pool so deep
    While over here on waters clear this rapping crown I’ll keep.

  • *mid-point reload*
    *sound of a record slowing down, before picking it up again*

    Wake up, man, you’re starting to bore
    I’m gold on the mic and gold on the floor
    You’re still in the pool while I’m up in da club
    Impressing the ladies with ma meatball sub
    Precise, dynamic, their knees go a-quiver
    Like sparkly vampires I’m guaranteed to shimmer
    Asleep on a lilo, you’re rapping like Dido,
    All bunched up like a silly French silo
    Stink like a wino, a five foot rhino,
    I’m soaring through the air like a born again Spryo
    Come at me again and you know you’ll be sorry
    I’m a rap-a-delic fox like a double yellow lorry.

  • Mate, nobody’s impressed by your meatball sub
    When you’re waving it around at the people in the pub
    It’s a tepid sweaty butty and it’s soaking through the bag
    You can show it to the ladies but they’ll only start to gag
    You’ve a thing or two to learn about seduction and allure
    That’s why I’m hangin’ with the ladies while you’re mopping up the floor
    But no hard feelings, don’t go cashing in your chips
    I’m not above stooping down to give the losing guy some tips
    See, I got my rap game tight and my lifestyle alright
    No need to bring no sandwiches into this fight
    If you’re having rap problems I feel bad for you son
    I got 99 problems but this battle’s been won

  • What’s that, granddad? You think it’s been won?
    You should stop all the shuffling and start the main run
    Your hearing aid’s broken and you’ve barely begun
    Gotta stop for your lunch that’s liver and ‘un-yun
    I’ve taken your tips, I needed a fix
    It goes with my flips and my awesome rap lyrics
    A master of tricks, I’m getting my kicks
    Watching you spit out your crusty Wheat-o-bix
    Nothing’s been sorted and nothing is over
    People ask is it safe to visit Moldova?
    Not for me to say, carry on the parle
    Your turn for the rapsadaiscal cabaret.

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