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UKFF Battle Rap 2012: Semi Finals


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The rules:


1. Each rap must consist of 16 lines. No more, no less.


2. Maximum of two raps each.


3. You have until 3:00pm on Saturday 3rd March to post. If you post nothing by the deadline, you're out.


4. Voting will commence after the rapping deadline in the form of replies in this thread. The cut-off point for votes will be 10:00pm on Wednesday 7th March.

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Fuck. Oh well, might as well have a go.



I'm drawn against a jester with a name from Twelfth Night

But what he doth'n't know is that he's now in deepest shite

I'll rape and mutilate him like Aaron did Lavinia

And transport him to the colonies, Queen Bess' place, Virginia


He's a feeble Desdemona against the Moor of Venice

An Elizabethan Walter and I'm Dennis the Menace

Alas! Poor Feste, I knew him, Horatio,

And I know he won't appreciate a rhyme about fellatio


So nor will I mention his Coriolanus

I'm like Shakespeare, he's George Peele, he's hardly even famous

I'm a motherfucking tempest, he's a comedy of errors

It's like he's just seen Banquo's ghost, he'll fucking shit himself with terrors


The most lamentable of tragedies, the downfall of Feste

He's clearly just Malvolio, he's a loser, I'm the beste

But all's well that ends well, as you like it, with no malice

I'm progressing to the final, farewell Feste, Exeunt alles.

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Enuff with all thee moaninge and pissinge! Thou misbegotten onion-eyed barnacles, Feste's crafte is a Labour of Love.


Now, HarmonicGenerator.



Feste is surprised you engaged in competition

Didst he e'en give thee prior written permission?

Thou failed to ask him to commence via PM

Or Likt his arse cleane with thy cleansing phlegm.


Thou art ever thee Bridesmaide, an unwanted vile crone

Scuryinge rounde after Loki, Butch or Gladstone.

Oft to be founde praising posters of virtue

By members thou art tupped more e'en than Kookachu.


By nature thou ist a repellent ephebophile

Luring young maidens with candies and pleasing smile

Shewing them comics with men from that strange Lost isle

Thy slim fingers picking their boddice loose meanwhile.


Thou roguish beef-witted coxcomb! A curse on thee!

Forever art thou banished from thy local nursery.

Feste disowns thee, thou villainous pervert

And weeps for the fate of that dogge drest in a shirte.

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