Macbeth:
By the pr*cking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. What's done cannot be undone, this battle is already won
Twenty trenched gashes I will leave upon thy head. When I'm through with thee, thou will wish for a quick death
If thou didst thy foul deed in my monarchy, I'd hang ye from a tree alive till famine slowly clings thee
I'll be bloody, bold and resolute. This grave craven rat'll play notes on my long flute
Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor, all thy songs are ghastly awful
I'm the king, ye lowly junkie. Slave, scoundrel, peasant, flunkie
With these hangman's hands, I'll pluck thine eyes out, then thou'st really scream thy heart out, vile devil, heathen turnout
Knave, villain, mongrel, fiend. This is what I do declare thee
Thou slave of drugs and thrall of drink, dost thou ever even think?
Thou lily-livered branded queer with a cell phone up thy festered rear. Face me in battle, mangy cur, where I'll chop off both thy vermin ears
I'll unseam ye from thy filthy navel to thy wretched chaps. Relieve thee of thy head like I did Macdonwald's traitor ass
No man born of a woman can harm this monarch, yes, but thy songs make me want to join the sleepy grooms in death
Watkins:
Stolen crown, stolen robes, stolen title, stolen throne
Your play relies on weird witches, while my life revolves around f***ing b*tches
You're so dramatic: "Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?" Who cares, grow a pair and be a f***ing man!
Your words are a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying jack sh*t
You're nothing but your lady's puppet, they should call you Macb*tch
You incompetent moron, when you're killing guards in "righteous anger," don't give a f***ing monologue
You still believe in ghosts, what are you, six years old?
Hearing voices, seeing daggers, little Mackers has gone crackers
When you hire murderers to slay Banquo and Fleance, make sure they finish the job, you ding dong doorknob
I'll bring an arsenal to burn burn you off the rooftops into the last train home, cracking open your dome, you dwarf in a giant's robe
You kill women, children, your king, your best friend. Yet you're disgusted by me, you rule o'er Hypocrisy
All it takes to kill you is a knife in your midsection from a man or a woman born from a C-section
At least you didn't surrender like a wimpy little b*tch, but you still got your head chopped off and mounted on a stick
I based this rap battle on Epic Rap Battles of History, a popular YouTube channel that has rap battles between fictional and non-fictional characters (Macbeth was a real person, but the rap battle is based on the fictionalized version of him). Lostprophets and Ian Watkins are moderately famous, but they're not something everyone's heard about. The rap battle turned out to have 217 words for each side, which is cool that it worked out that way
By the pr*cking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. What's done cannot be undone, this battle is already won
Twenty trenched gashes I will leave upon thy head. When I'm through with thee, thou will wish for a quick death
If thou didst thy foul deed in my monarchy, I'd hang ye from a tree alive till famine slowly clings thee
I'll be bloody, bold and resolute. This grave craven rat'll play notes on my long flute
Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor, all thy songs are ghastly awful
I'm the king, ye lowly junkie. Slave, scoundrel, peasant, flunkie
With these hangman's hands, I'll pluck thine eyes out, then thou'st really scream thy heart out, vile devil, heathen turnout
Knave, villain, mongrel, fiend. This is what I do declare thee
Thou slave of drugs and thrall of drink, dost thou ever even think?
Thou lily-livered branded queer with a cell phone up thy festered rear. Face me in battle, mangy cur, where I'll chop off both thy vermin ears
I'll unseam ye from thy filthy navel to thy wretched chaps. Relieve thee of thy head like I did Macdonwald's traitor ass
No man born of a woman can harm this monarch, yes, but thy songs make me want to join the sleepy grooms in death
Watkins:
Stolen crown, stolen robes, stolen title, stolen throne
Your play relies on weird witches, while my life revolves around f***ing b*tches
You're so dramatic: "Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?" Who cares, grow a pair and be a f***ing man!
Your words are a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying jack sh*t
You're nothing but your lady's puppet, they should call you Macb*tch
You incompetent moron, when you're killing guards in "righteous anger," don't give a f***ing monologue
You still believe in ghosts, what are you, six years old?
Hearing voices, seeing daggers, little Mackers has gone crackers
When you hire murderers to slay Banquo and Fleance, make sure they finish the job, you ding dong doorknob
I'll bring an arsenal to burn burn you off the rooftops into the last train home, cracking open your dome, you dwarf in a giant's robe
You kill women, children, your king, your best friend. Yet you're disgusted by me, you rule o'er Hypocrisy
All it takes to kill you is a knife in your midsection from a man or a woman born from a C-section
At least you didn't surrender like a wimpy little b*tch, but you still got your head chopped off and mounted on a stick
I based this rap battle on Epic Rap Battles of History, a popular YouTube channel that has rap battles between fictional and non-fictional characters (Macbeth was a real person, but the rap battle is based on the fictionalized version of him). Lostprophets and Ian Watkins are moderately famous, but they're not something everyone's heard about. The rap battle turned out to have 217 words for each side, which is cool that it worked out that way
