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Epic Patts Battles of History!
Mark the Twain boys, we have a Willie wannabe.
You're lost, no one knows your name, Sammy.
Tom's just a boy and he's more famous than you, son.
I'm London, givin' The Call. Wild's comin', betta run.
I'm gonna Come-at you, backing you into your visions.
Just like battling me, you made many poor decisions.
You didn't even complete high school, that's sad.
And for what? The measley death of your old dad.
'Least I knew my father, yours wasn't known.
Clement's knocking this mama's boy back home.
You're worst than Grylls with your Wild story,
Everything you write is long and just boring.
I'm Building up the Flames on this pity writer,
Massacring this wimp, you ain't much a fighter!
This battle is over. The headlines will read,
"London lost to Twain in Rap Battle of 1903."
It's obvious you have your facts twisted!
I'll beat you 'til you see stars. Don't resist it!
It won't be me who loses, it'll be you.
Just like your son lost his life at only two!
You hate Christianity? Is it because you evolved?
Suck it up; or the beating'll have this Parliment involved.
The saddest fact 'bout you is that you died all alone!
I'm going to knock you down harder than Stallone.
Twain stares at London when Twain falls on his knees, clutching his heart.
Twain: Tom... Finish this for me.
Time to take ya to school, London, it's where ya belong.
Ya'll knock Twain harder than Stallone? Ya'll just wrong.
Ya got accused o' plagerism. Ya commited Suicide cuz of it.
Overdosin' on Morphine. What? Ya couldn't handle-it.
Ya have Racist views, yet no Social skills.
Flamin' ya hard, unpublishing ya like the Hills.
Ya're denser than Ben Rogers, ya'll paint my fence for free;
I'll rob you of your riches and take your treasure, Becky.