MOLEMAN'S EPIC RAP BATTLES!
Listen up, you worthless sack of protoplasm; here's the deal:
I've utter faith that I'll one-up you, and go platinum for real!
You're an evasive little pussy; I'm a doer, dropping bombs:
I'll whoop your ass a hundred times worse than that bitch you call your mom!
The Triple-K Grand Wizard's here to stick a thousand truths to y'all;
Imagining won't be required to make you suck my salty balls!
Just ask Saddam Hussein: my shocking words are verbal PK Thunder!
Come on down to South Park? You're gonna have a bad time, Mother-fucker!
Here's an eight-part melody of hate, you cardboard-cutout brat:
Abort your efforts like the spawn of your Satanic Rankin/Bass,
For I ain't cynical in saying that all I hear from you is crap;
If thunder's what you're spitting, you can call these raps my Franklin Badge!
A bigger pain inside your ass than a visit from aliens,
So shut your mouth before I open it like a Canadian's!
Make Minchmeat out of me? You're Andonuts if you think you could manage,
So buzz off, lest you be bitch-smacked with a "SMAAAASH!" for mortal damage!
That verse stunk worse than Eagleland's advertisements for your game;
Methinks the lines lost something in translation, kind of like your name!
This ain't your sanctuary, Pokey, and you'd best start running home,
'Cause pissing me off's poorly-thought-out as the schemes of undie-gnomes!
You're full of Poo, and no prince, either; more akin to Mr. Hankey.
Wrecking you rivals your mother, it's so easy; spanky-spanky!
I've rolled with blue-power groups, but they at least didn't worship Hitler!
You resent being labelled "fat", yet truly, your bone couldn't be littler.
I HAVE FUCKING HAD IT WITH YOUR SHIT! Cartman means business, buddy:
I'll make you crap in your pants, and not as fear's byproduct, either,
Grind and cook your body up, á la Shakespeare at his most bloody,
And feed you to your own brother; I hear he's no Picky eater.
EarthBound? Trust me: you'd be HellBound, even if you were a Mormon;
You'll be finished by the count of Onett, Twoson, Threed, you whoreson!
I'm school's bottom-one-percent, but first in lyric-busting class,
So take your disses, make like Mr. Slave, and shove them up your ass!
Well, let's be honest: we're both corpulent, cruel creeps. Indeed, this match
Is like the Special Olympics: in either race, you finish last,
And you owe more to status quo than any boy band's debts, you freak;
Got the Ass-Burgers beaten out you by a girl, you're so damn weak!
Moonside's the only place I'd answer your dictations with a "yes";
I'm flowing with mach-speed delivery: Escargo Express-esque,
And that two-hundredth episode got screwed by Islamistic pressure,
But your fat face is the blasphemy they really ought to censor!
I take back that "whoreson" line; I really meant: Streisand-begotten!
Man, I'll make a jackass of you swiftly as I did Bin Laden.
You seem pretty rich; your neighbors owe your folks a pretty penny,
But as rhyming skills go, your worth's pretty much on par with Kenny's!
Kenny: Hey man, leave me out of this, yo- (*Explodes for no reason*)
Cartman: Rats; that was inexplicable.
Your death, though, will be no shock; they'll say:
Kyle: Meh; that was predictable…
Cartman: You'll stop right in your tracks, but not to pose saying "fuzzy pickles",
Once my insults blow up in your face like bottle rocket missiles!
You put on a less appealing act than Butters' wack tap dancing;
Only half-ginger, yet of a soul, you haven't any fraction!
That'll make it all the easier to leave naught of you remaining,
When I send your mind and body into Mu, and not as training!
Well, I'll tear into you 'til you can't stop crying bloody murder,
Then get drunk upon your tears as if my name was Mason Verger.
Go pig out on some fly honey, barf-head, 'cause it's plain to see
That I could beat you with one hand behind my back; J. Lo agrees!
You lived through getting thrown beneath the bus, but listen here, M'kay:
You'll be gone sooner than a hundred bucks in the investment fray!
You wanna Brawl with Porky? Better be prepared for consequences,
For I need no Mr. Saturn to break right through your defenses…
Mr. Saturn: ZOOM, BOING!
Porky: …Behold: I'm sporting heavy arms to heavy metal,
With an evil power on my side, though not your faggot devil.
Welcome to the womb of woe, wherein awaits your final fight;
You can consider yourself dead, and it's too late to make it right!
Mysterion: The evil in Minch's heart can be allowed to run rampant no longer, lest the great darkness he has awakened consume all of us. I, Mysterion, must intervene and- GAH! (*Pushed off rooftop to his death*)
What are you, some future-wetback, trying to take my job away?
Well, I'm the only Chosen One who'll whack this pasty snob today!
Yes, it is I, the Coon, and I'll be giving you my autograph,
In claw-marks on your face through this barrage of my full-throttle wrath!
Boy, I'll drop you as hard as your own lame league! Props, though, on those garments:
The costume's spot-on; looks just as if you found it in the garbage.
Not-so-devious raccoon-ass; you should take a page from Sly,
Because I mean business for realsies, and I'm not your buddy, guy!
Here's some enlightenment, you rotten apple: you're as good as toast!
I'll go BP on you: drill through your brains, and that'll be all, folks;
Don't need my so-called "Friends" to burst your ego and your cockpit bubble!
Crossing me was where you fucked up; there, Hindsight: saved you some trouble.
What a waste of bars that was; still think you'll pull through all of this?
It's hard believing you believe that; you're like Scientologists!
You long-since butchered Clyde and pals, but playtime's really over now;
When I switch off this clunker's power, watch another surge, and how…
Eric, Eric, Eric… wanna war against Giygas on mics?
Bitch, please; I outdo both Mewtwo and the Empire at counter-strikes!
A psychic psycho mama's boy who puts ol' Norman Bates to shame,
This otherworldly foe who'll cancel you for good ain't turning tame!
Chaos incarnate, I'm one far-off cry from that "Professor" whelp;
Send out a prayer? I'd like to see you try; they'll say:
Kyle: Go fuck yourself!
Giygas: The truth is crystal-clear, and unlike these backgrounds, I won't distort it:
If you fought my fetus, even then, I'd see your life aborted!
From one moviegoing misstep, to Itoi's nightmares, to yours,
To hippies, trees and traffic signs, my darkness spreads 'til all's absorbed,
And though my mind is shattered, you remain the bigger idiot:
Forget the form of my attack; you can't grasp how to flow for shit!
Come on; your bluffing's just like rape, 'cause none of it is getting past me!
…That being said, Minch, I'll admit that your new friend is rather ghastly,
But if "happy"'s how he's feeling, I won't let that stay for long…
Hey, C-Man, that red swirly guy's been talking shit about your mom!
WHAT; who dares blaspheme against the Blasphemy from which I spawned?!
I'm waking up to Call this fool out; screw it if the stars are wrong!
You puny Geek; didn't my cultists lay out what'll happen to you,
When straight outta R'lyeh, comes the eldritch mind-fucker, Cthulhu?
H. P. made me, but the rhymes I craft for you comprise pure hate:
You'll wish that I had simply eaten you, so grim will be your fate!
You're but a flower to me, and like that weird tale, I'll put you under;
Wouldn't dream of losing in a vigintillion years of slumber!
Watch me wreck your base to sounds of Starmen's screams and toppled stones;
I'm laying down more maddening words than any A. A.-authored tome!
Your grave's been dug, and it's a Deep One, like my pals in Dagon's Order;
I'll smash you between my palms, and label you The Sandwiched Horror.
Oh, get real, you overrated, mythos-title-hogging hack;
My unreal skills will burst your brains so bad, this time they won't grow back!
Derleth need not be at the helm for your defeat to be achievable:
You're just a big ol' squid; my cosmic terror is unspeakable!
Cthulhu fm'latgh hlirgh! You really have destroyed your mind;
Even against my Grim Adventures version, still you'd Trail behind!
We both know well that one immortal's life ends only by another,
And between us, there can be but one, so come and get me, sucker!
(*The two monsters clash; vision is engulfed by a massive, blinding burst of energetic light*)
…Dang! It seems that either beast has dealt the other fatal wounds;
Convenient, really… Now, although I'd love to stay and seal your doom,
I've even bigger fish to fry than any Great Old One, and thus,
I leave you in the present, heading off to cause far-future-fuss…
Oh, don't you try to exit-stage-left on me, coward; I've got more to say:
This battle won't be done 'til all respect my rap-authority!
My win can't wait, and so into deep-freezing I retire,
Chilling out for now, but come my waking, I'll be spitting fire…
…And, like Buck Rogers, the Time Child emerges from his frigid capsule
To engage his rival once more; now, where is that little rascal?
…Ah, you're right in front of me; get ready for round 2.0,
Because I'm back to- …holy David Blaine, have you let yourself go!
So, you've come here through space and time pursuing unfounded revenge, kid?
Oh my God; you're killing me with your sheer arrogance, you bastard!
Though you deemed your trip to Casa B. as worth its consequences,
I'll see to it you regret this; welcome to your final chapter!
I'm a king, with a utopian empire in my name;
The dopest Pig-Mask master since Jigsaw, I play the conquest game!
Just ask Fassad: my forces trump foes! Know your heart will break and rend,
But don't you dare start tearing up just yet; no crying until the end.
How can you call this a utopia?! There's too many damn minorities;
You're King of Nowhere: how's that for a title of authority?
There'll be no safety from the PK Hate I'm launching at you:
Bomb-ass lyrics sick enough to topple even your wack statue!
Get up out of bed and fight me; you look like you're from Akira,
But I needn't follow suit and be a blob to fuck your rear up!
With or without godless otters, I bust triple-A-grade verses;
Your delivery's as mechanical as your robot-selves: nerveless!
Man, I'm pulling all the stops out; time to get apocalyptic:
In contrast to Mother 3's end, your demise will be explicit!
No chimera'll be required to see you instantly defeated,
So naturally, take after my Killer Cyborg's theme, and Beat It!
I'll strike you in combos to these beats; unravel master plans!
You won't get far with me; your game couldn't even travel past Japan,
And I'll downsize you like its move from 64 to GBA
With words so Negative, they'll leave self-pitying ones all you can say!
Al Gore warned you of Manbearpig, and he was two-thirds-way correct:
I'll roast you like a lil' marshmallow; snap your nonexistent neck,
You dumb, malformed Ape! Saying you'd bring me down, you couldn't have been more wrong:
King P'll drop you from a hundred-story building; call you Kong!
My brittle, bed-bound body's broken after countless trips through time,
Yet I remain a towering force in terms of loosing thunderous rhymes!
Your fatty blood's unfit for spilling on my spider-legs, you schmuck;
I thusly let the Parka Man end this…
Kenny: Wait, Cartman?! What the fu- (*Multiple gunshots*)
Porky: Gah! My hit points fall toward zero, and I'm slowly losing breath,
But I've still one last trick, so don't get your hopes up on seeing my death,
For if you'd take sick joy in doing so, I'll keep you from that pleasure,
Even if it means my being deprived of this world's light forever…
(*Absolutely Safe Capsule activates*)
Ha; Guess I didn't need Cthulhu to leave you in dark oblivion!
Hell, I'd take Ensenada over what you'll now be living in,
And hence, our duel concludes: I stand victorious; you're boned,
'Cause you just screwed yourself for good, and on that note, I'm going home…
…Wait a minute, my home doesn't exist anymore, and everyone I've ever known has been dead for centuries…
…AW, MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN COC-
MOLEMAN'S EPIC RAP BATTLES!