Epic rap battles of history - Mr. T vs. Mr. Rogers [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Mr. T

I pity the fool
Who tries to step to Clubber Lang
Call me BA biceps
'Cos I'll crush your whole gang
Bring Tuesday, Friday, and little Trolly the train
And watch me dip their ass in gold
And where e'm like my neck chain
Sucka!
I'll choke you with your own sweater sleeves
You couldn't even beat me in the land of make believe
Punk!
I will Mister T bag you
In the closest cemetery
Nobody's gonna miss you
'Cos all your friend's imaginary

Mr. Rogers

Hi there, neighbor
Hope you don't mind if I change my shoes
I'll be rocking sneakers
Till this battle's over
So I don't get blood
From your ugly face
On my penny loafers
I like you just the way you are
One in a million
But it looks like the barber gave your head a brazilian
I pity your neck, Mr. Gold chains
You've got too many
The only gold I keep is on the shelf with my Emmys
I teach the whole world full of children
I can tell
You call yourself "T" because your too dumb to spell

Mr. T

Who you calling dumb, fool?
Mr T only needs one letter
Hello? It's for you
Bill Cosby wants his sweater
You're a forty-year-old virgin
In a dumpy-ass house
I'll get Hannibal, Murdoch, and Face to stomp you out
The only pussy you've ever seen, is on Henrietta
Sucka!
And your Mr. McFeeley
Delivers a lot more than letters
So before you come to battle
With your PBS crap!
How 'bout I call up CPS about all them kids on your lap
Fool!

Mr. Rogers

Watch what you say
Kids love me more than lunch
I'm not the one with my face on some whack-ass Captain Crunch
When my plan comes together
You won't even see it coming
I'll chop you into four black dudes
And I'll remake cool running
I'll say this once Laurence
I hope it's understood
Get right back in your van, Get the fuck outta my neighborhood