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.
Even gold both on the floor and on the mic needs time. I respect that, take all the time you need little man.
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.
*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
(mopping up the fleur?)
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.