歌词
[Intro:dramatic Announcer]
Ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round with haste,
For a duel of wits, refined and chaste.
A Victorian rap battle, posh and grand,
Where words are our weapons, let’s take a stand.
[Victorian male vocals throughout the song]
[Posh refined Rapper 1:]
Good day, dear sir, it’s time to commence,
A battle of intellect, where words make sense.
Fetch my hat, it’s time for fisticuffs, indeed,
In this grand arena, it’s respect we need.
You call me out, think you’re up to the task?
In this verbal duel, you’ve overreached, I bask.
Your slander’s but a whisper, a mere trivial note,
While I stand tall, an eloquent antidote.
[Orchestral stabs]
[Posh dramatic Rapper 2:]
Ah, but my dear fellow, you seem rather brash,
In this refined company, you’re bound to crash.
I’ll dismantle your arguments with impeccable grace,
Watch as your bravado swiftly deface.
Your rhymes are but nursery, lacking in flair,
While I exude wisdom, beyond compare.
This battle of words, a gentleman’s play,
Prepare to be humbled, in the most genteel way.
[Orchestral stabs]
[Posh refind Rapper 1:]
Indeed, your retort is quite amusing,
But in this grand contest, you’re simply losing.
My words are my rapier, sharp and precise,
While you fumble with your rhymes, thrice as nice.
You speak of grandeur, yet your substance is weak,
In this duel of minds, it’s truth that I seek.
I’ll lay bare your fallacies, expose every flaw,
In this ring of rhetoric, I am the law.
[Orchestral stabs]
[Posh dramatic Rapper 2:]
Ah, the hubris of youth, so eager to impress,
But in this duel of wits, I’ll cause you distress.
My diction is impeccable, my cadence refined,
In this Victorian skirmish, I shan’t be confined.
You prattle on with bravado, but where is the weight?
In this battle of intellect, I dictate your fate.
Your posturing and bluster, mere echoes in time,
While I ascend, sublime and prime.
[Orchestral stabs]
[Posh refined Rapper 1:]
Very well, dear sir, your bravado’s quite clear,
But your rhymes lack the depth that all must revere.
Fetch my hat, it’s time for fisticuffs, indeed,
For in this contest of words, it’s you I shall lead.
My prose is unmatched, my wit sharp as a blade,
In this grand tapestry, your colours shall fade.
So, let us conclude this duel of the minds,
For in this Victorian battle, victory’s mine.
[Orchestral stabs]
[Posh dramatic Rapper 2:]
Indeed, dear fellow, let us draw to a close,
For in this grand contest, true intellect shows.
Your effort, commendable, but alas, you fall short,
In this regal battle, I remain the court.
So tip your hat, and bow with grace,
For in this Victorian duel, you’ve found your place.
A fisticuffs of words, a gentleman’s dance,
In this grand arena, I’ve led the advance.
[Orchestral Instrumental]
[Outro: Dramatic Announcer]
Thus concludes our battle, with manners intact,
A Victorian rap, with elegance packed.
Fetch your hat, tip it low, and walk away proud,
For in this genteel contest, we’ve both wowed the crowd.
