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Moleman’s Epic Rap Battles #45: Steven Universe Vs. Norman Bates
Image by Moleman9000
VIDEO: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jli9s_PCKFs
••• SCRIPT/LYRICS: •••
MOLEMAN’S EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!!!
STEVEN UNIVERSE…
…VS…
…NORMAN BATES!
BEGIN!
Steven Universe:
We…
…Shouldn’t have to bother trading blows two-sidedly,
Because your brain has excess vacancies if you’d go fighting me!
I’m checking in to checkmate chumps, no need for shelter from a rainstorm,
And won’t be here come the morning, but I’ll tell it to you plain, Norm:
You look like if they made Andrew Garfield fuse with Seymour Skinner,
But don’t start up, spinning webs of lies, when I drop by for dinner;
Fans of mine go flaming lame establishments that do me wrong,
So put your rounds on hiatus and learn to love the Steven-bomb!
Norman Bates:
I’ll not be tolerating fat-ass posers, preaching love and peace,
With ukulele-strumming sappier than IZ’s…
Mother, please…
This freak’s whore matron lives inside his gut, straight out of Total Recall,
So if you’ve got any, show some; go tell off the little meatball!
Wipe that wormy smile right off your bean-headed face and listen:
I go more than just a little mad come time to lay some dissing
On the white male Cap of S.J.W. America,
Who’s far from either of his home-worlds, faced with trouble to be wary of!
As my guest of dishonor, your roasting will be a shoo-in
For this host who boasts the most, and you alone will come out ruined!
Mother raised no fool who’d heed the crap this half-breed bastard states;
Vince Vaughn’s performance schtick more firmly grasped the task to master Bates!
Steven Universe:
Those bars couldn’t scratch me were my gemstone gypsum; quite contrarily,
These triple-A-grade raps are cutting you with crystal-clarity!
A far cry from restorative, what I spit here amounts to acid,
And you’ll share your dad’s demise, like:
Connie: He can’t see without his glasses!
Steven: Anyone, though, could see plain that your mom’s off her wretched rocker;
If I knew no better, I’d swear I’d just heard three separate squawkers!
You’re trapped in a private bubble by that hag’s controlling force;
I’ve watched stabler relationships get straight self-dragged to ocean floors!
I do hope that you like it in your little motel; honestly,
But you’ll get put to bed for good if you don’t show some modesty,
You meager mouse! This tiger of a skillionaire’s about to pin you;
Make like other feline forms with your aggression: discontinue!
No fat fry-boy’d fantasize your words’ll get the best of me:
You’ll be force-fed mine, á la far more infernal such entities,
‘Cause I mean Bismuth: you don’t wanna push me past my point of breaking!
Call me Ste-Van Sant; I’m matching you for every shot you’re taking!
Norman Bates:
"Crystal clarity", he says; let me have at that addled shit,
And I’ll show him elucidation!
Stay your hand; I’ll handle this!
Boy, you can handle taking out the garbage; you ain’t up to snuff
To carry this the way I can on your two legs!
Enough; enough!
Denying my lyrics’ meatiness? Your own fanatics won’t be happy;
They’ll deem it more problematic than the crap they did to Zamii!
Understand me, or’d Rebecca Sugar-coat that, true to form
For a tart-bitch whose art-list starts with Eds and Ratatouille porn?
Get out of my hair, and hop into some carnationed walking dead’s:
You’d better run-run-run away; I’m making like the Talking Heads,
And burning down the house until I’m free of all your verbal sinning,
For this battle, as a contest, ended with its own Beginning!
Watch me prove your emo matriarch inferiorly powered:
Knock you off your balanced breakfast, friend, ’til tears rain down in showers!
It’s your final curtain call if you don’t stay this confrontation;
Forty thousand bucks says you won’t last halfway through its duration!
You’re no Brody Baker, boy: best not boost beefs by bashing mamas;
Yeah, it’s taxing that I’m asked to keep her acts from catching drama,
But I’ll always do it for her for as long as we’re together,
And that is to say, and don’t forget it: you’ll be here forever.
Steven Universe:
Threads alleging you descent-deceived were reeled back to the Spool?
I need no retroactive tricks; spit real-time counters as we duel,
While twenty-three years won’t see you come back home once I’ve testified,
Seen through this nightmare by the same free speech ol’ Dylan exercised,
Plus the same self-defense young Dylan exercised against your fury,
For this E.R.B.’s like A&E: I’ll end you prematurely,
And you’ll thank me for it, surely! Your whole outlook is defective,
So step off Susanna; let me let you see the full perspective:
Your split mind’s cracked like a Rutile, and as for off-color jokes,
A sixfold grandma’s Alice version’d have to wonder what you smoke!
Alarming points were made the day returning Homeworld forces landed,
And with six-decade-old spoilers, I’m being still-heavier-handed:
You should put your mom someplace, alright, but no madhouse will have her;
Try a mausoleum for the morbid, mummified cadaver,
And while hard-to-swallow truths quite clearly aren’t your cup of tea,
The glass that poisoned her sure was, although you struck reluctantly,
And that’s the sole detail for which I wouldn’t give full clemency,
Because the mommy dearest to this boy was his worst enemy!
In fact, Crawfordian comparisons would paint her ire tamer:
If you’d wound up back inside her womb, she’d pay for wire hangers!
Now, your psyche’s self-implanted with a vengeful vestige of her,
Mortally unmaking matches to divest you of a lover,
Save for memories of back when you slept next to one another!
Even Oedipus would go:
Lars: You are the densest motherfucker… AAAAAH!
(*REE, REE! REE, REE! REE, REE! REE, REE!*)
Norman Bates, "Norma Bates":
Fade to black for now for Norm, for Mother knows best in these matters;
Son, you’re staring down the singular most seminal of slashers,
Whose small serving size of slayings was hardly hearty for the reaper,
But tonight, I’m stacking up the bodies, starting with a threefer!
I can see your geological progenitor’s revered,
But single-year-old spoiler alert: they had you wrongly-steered.
A big ol’ birdie couldn’t tell all on her alleged act of violence,
But when I speak what the truth is, don’t expect a smash to silence.
Her remaking took one stone’s turn to a dorsal point of view,
But her deception can’t be spun to any sort of rosy hue,
And you would know it, too! I heard it from a little fairy-Cartman:
You yourself confessed in your pursuit of planetary pardon
That you are incarnate of her soul, reforged in flesh and mind;
Made as a mule for managing the mess past forms had left behind.
She quit on life and ditched her proven, tried and true confidant-rock
To hitch a ride on Mr. Universe’s suiciding cock!
Now, it’s the Pink entelechy entire’s trial, Quartz and all:
I’ll be judge, jury, executioner and tearer-down of walls,
Of arteries, that is, so let me drive my knife into your heart,
And crack you to your very core; deny your life a third restart!
Steven Universe, "Pink Diamond":
Well, then, if you’d insist, a planet-champ commander’s what I’ll be,
Outspoken with sardonic humor and a hammer’s subtlety!
This Diamond does the hitting here, stepped to the plate to pitch a flow
Against the sour transvestite of the Hitchcocky Horror Picture Show!
This bitch should know: a Gem-boss hero’s got stars in his eyes;
Behind yours lives what the superior Sam Loomis summarized!
They ought to put you in a zoo, man: not some kind of Eden, either:
For if Norman’s kind were mankind’s norm, then I wouldn’t even be here!
Don’t complain of abdicating blame, Ms. "Wouldn’t-harm-a-fly";
Bates is to Osborn as that carcass is to some wack Goblin mask!
I’m restoration of a culture’s cornerstone, personified
For reformation from its harshness as a grand iconoclast!
I’m making Homeworld great again, though oppositely to America,
When all-inclusive love is what I usher in the era of,
Aberrance such as parents of apparent nuts as gimmicks,
Madly mimicked to extents of axing pregnant mates, omitted!
Don’t expect you’ll get me fretting with your serial killings;
I’d be hard-pressed to feel less threatened from your cereal-shilling,
And bringing up ride-hitching, are we? You’ll regret that something awful
As you’re finished with as faint fanfare as Bloch’s own second novel!
End your call, "Ed"; you aren’t even modeled, truly, after Gein;
Try some pathetic, obese maker of B movie magazines!
A single bound brought me up here for a return long-overdue;
There’ll be no shortage, though, of legwork as I walk all over you!
Norman Bates, "Norma Bates":
Go get encased to taste your race of faking’s fate; launched into space.
I’ll Gallagher-smash all your Pikmin progeny, then break your your face,
While I fall closer to the form of flora Silverstein portrayed:
I give my all in setting out to take your everything away;
Leave but a stump, sunk in the swamp! I’ll bust you, no failing, no contest:
Shatter Pink for sure, for real, and thus to Mohs’ scale in the process;
Recreate some Swedish taxidermy with your dainty lion,
And we’ll see if you still shine on after I get crazy, Diamond!
You’ll say "Uncle" soon enough, and no, it isn’t April Fools’:
I’d blast you back to Kindergarten, if you’d ever been to school,
And just as your rogue runt of her dark army’s litter slept too long,
You’ll be left six-feet-under-grounded for the next millennium!
I speak authoritatively, like your big sisters blasting light,
To wreck your body, soul and mind, and do it all in black and white,
Suspenseful in the real way with the buildup to my blow-barrage,
While you have all the tact of your wack fifty-foot Nicki Minaj!
Yo, here’s my fifty cents: it’s down the drain for your hopes in the worst way;
Gonna watch your life ebb out like it’s every one of your birthdays!
Getting diced to pieces on the mic, you’ll be reduced to tears,
So emulate your own turf’s breed of Onion, boy: avert your ears!
I’m going out on a limb here, although some Peridot, I ain’t:
Log four-five-one will soon attest the Steven perished on this date!
You couldn’t attack me free of peril in your own room of illusion;
Go and ask Maude’s buddy Harold: Mother knows no substitution!
Steven Universe, "Pink Diamond":
Qu’est-ce que c’est; so, you suppose your killer win a fated thing?
You ought to know: it isn’t over ’til the skinny lady sings!
You couldn’t get a clue on my case if your name was Peter Sellers,
‘Cause you’re out of your mind, Bates: a fruitloop; best keep to the cellar!
As for lapses from the actual, I’ve had them, too; outright
Enacted past-abstractions, napping, trapped on freakshow jungle moons,
But in no dream would I stand for this! The tear-shedding you incite
Undoes that of the blood you’ve spilled, like:
Lars: …Bada-bingo, bongo-boom.
Steven: The spelling-out of your psychosis marked the low point of an opus,
But give me eight bars, and I’ll succinctly state your diagnosis:
You’re corrupted to the core; devoid of happiness in life,
And that’s ignoring all the people you go stabbing with your knife!
I’ve pacified planet-sized Frankensteins smack-dab inside Earth’s mantle,
But your mental clusterfuck is far too huge to help be handled!
Blue and Yellow both agree that such fixation is pathetic;
Tell me: what’s the use of feeling murderously schizophrenic?
Norman Bates, "Norma Bates":
You chose poorly with time-travel, to which you yourself bore witness,
Yet it henceforth was forgotten, like some Harry Potter business.
I assure you: in this battle, you’ll forevermore be finished;
Penetrating past projections, I defy blow-blocker gimmicks!
Plus, don’t bother if it’s some old sword you’d take up, grasp and harness;
Your girlfriend could do it better, and I’d snap that crap regardless!
While the junk involved when you two get together’s dubious,
I’ll slice you even, Steven; to the most distinct of juicy bits!
I’ll see blood volumes lowered quarts, subjecting Rose’s bud to nipping;
Give the biggest boot to Gems and holograms since twenty fifteen!
Follow fandom’s lead and conjure yet another lame persona;
There’s no way, dear, you’d escape your stay here were your name Rihanna!
Mother, this has gotten out of hand; it can’t continue!
Shove it;
It’s too late to turn your back against me now, boy, and besides,
Where was this protest when our other pretty patrons kicked the bucket?
But he’s just a kid!
Trust me: within, a stone-cold slut’s what hides!
I’ll be your Sandman, though think less Chordettes, and more Metallica;
It’s exit, son and enter, mother as she’s forced smack out of ya’,
So welcome to your final comeback, Pink! Skipping all celebratory formalities,
Cut it straight to the chase: make your case; be yourself as you’re met with a gory fatality!
………
Steven Universe:
…DON’T CALL IT A COMEBACK! There’s only Steven; has been for years,
Like motherfuckers adhered to Ghostbusters’ worst fears!
With lines between being finally drawn, let lines one sees be finely-drawn
As inner light rejoins the ether with a scream of FEIM ZII GRON!
Even while you’re repentant, evil taints your every essence,
Cupid’s arrow for potential sweethearts made a deadly sentence,
And it’s evident: change your mind? I’d sooner get through to Crowder;
Your own better half alone could hope to shoo the shrew from power.
Norman Bates:
Don’t just stand there, now; go after him!
I shouldn’t do it…
What?!
Son, I command you: pick that blade back up, and put it through his gut!
I won’t…
You’ll let me at once out of your mind’s space, you useless sack of nuts!
How about I’ll defiantly beat a dead horse hind-faced, abusive hag to dust?!
Noooooo…
…And now it’s over, isn’t it? Yet, I can’t just move on,
When murderous maternal madness has maintained for much too long;
They’ll surely lock me up forever. Even so, though, I’ll be free, then,
From delusion, dominance and the darkest of inner demons…
…And Steven.
WHO WON?
WHO’S NEXT?
I DECIDE!
MOLEMAN’S EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!
