Instigator / Pro

Rap Battle: Method Man vs K-Rino


The debate is finished. The distribution of the voting points and the winner are presented below.

Winner & statistics

After 1 vote and with 1 point ahead, the winner is...

Publication date
Last updated date
Number of rounds
Time for argument
One week
Max argument characters
Voting period
Two weeks
Point system
Winner selection
Voting system
Contender / Con

Pro acts as the rapper Method Man and Con acts as K-Rino in this lyrical exchange.

1. Both sides are expected to rap with the same style as the rapper they’re emulating, but it’s not a requirement.

2. Both Pro and Con must stay in character.

3. Dissing other celebrities is allowed, but only public information about public figures can be used. If their personal lives have been made public, then it can be used.

4. Aside from the previous rules, everything else is off-limits and No-Holds Barred.

5. Voters will quote their favorite lines from Pro and Con from each round. They will explain which rounds they lost or won. Whoever wins the most rounds wins the entire rap battle.

Round 1

Popped outta nowhere from the Wu-Tang Clan.
Everyone say mic drops, The Meth is back
You bouta be taken out like a suicidal moron on crack.

Thinkin’ you’re so OP, buddy, you’re a nobody
Even when you lost to NIP
Wishin’ you was a icon, when you’re just a bygone

Cryin about Identity Theft, Like Anyone wanna-be K-Rino
Exit Stage Left, Big Wino.

You’re just a black Alex Jones with more pout, minus the clout
Fuckin’ useless
Tryna fight government corruption with your storytime introduction,
Gettin’ smoked by the bars of my divine interruption.
Do you still even function?

The gravity intensifies till you feel pressurized. 
‘Spit so much fire gets you vaporized.

You’re past your prime and the nurse says it’s bedtime.
Woulda called you a hasbeen but it’s passed ten
And you’re just the past tense. 

Say ni’ni’, Mr. Scrooge.
Thanks for being the Stooge.

Yo, Yo, check it out, K-Rino's in the booth,
'Bout to expose the truth, with nothin' to lose.

You mention the Wu, but what's it to you?
Method Man, you ain't been relevant since '90-fuck'n-2.

Y'all claiming that you are truly back,
but your rhymes are nothing but a big shit stack,

You say I'm a nobody, shit bitch, that just ain't the case,
I been spittin' knowledge, and puttin' rappers in their mother fuck'n place.

You lost to NIP? Well, bitch listen to this,
I never lost a battle, I'm a verbal pugilist.

You call me a bygone, a wannabe icon,
But I'm still here, while you fade away like a dying sun. 

Identity theft, you ain't on my level,
My rhymes are intricate, I'm a lyrical rebel.

You compare me to Alex Jones,  mother fucker you're way off base,
I fight the system with my words, not conspiracy chase.

Your bars don't phase me, they're weak and tasteless,
I'm K-Rino, bitch, my rhymes are ageless.

You claim I'm past my prime, but my skills are refined,
While you're strugglin' to come up with a single dope line.

Call'n me a has-been, it's just laughable,
My lyrical legacy is undeniable and masterful.

Sayin' ni'ni', Mr. Scrooge, but I ain't the one,
You're the one who's sleepin', I'm just havin' fun.

You wanna call me a stooge, but you're the joke,
K-Rino in the booth, leavin' you to burn, in my lyrical smoke.

Round 2
Listen here, lil bro. 
Shoulda been a no-show
With your no-flow. 

Dyin’ suns don’t fade
They blast with the fury of my everlasting wrath
That’ll send you to heaven to be with yo friend Kevin. 
Got no caliber to fire back at me, I’m bettin’

Nigger be gettin triggered
While my clout and fame be growin bigger

You’re a nobody, Afro-Thunder.
Lookin like you stepped out of a time machine from the 70’s. 
Perhaps, you’d have better luck as a plumber. 

Bout time you stop headbuttin milk cartons
Needa start workin on them raps
So you stop puttin out that trash

Got no cash, with nothing to put in yo stash. 

Jobless, buckless, so just keep on whining ‘fuck this! 

You’re pretty brave to beg me to put you in your grave. 
Shame I don’t got the patience to dig wide enough. 
Try not to cry, you sad lil creampuff.

Beat 2.   K-Rino Duality.

Listen up, lil ho, let me show you the way
K-Rino's in da house, so just sit and stay

You think you're clever, but I'm on another plane
I'm the storm in the calm, the sun in the rain

Eclipsin' your shine with the extent of my knowledge
I'll drown you in school, yo, yo..  no need for college

 I'm the Afro-Thunder, a force to be reckoned
My verses hit hard, like a force fist from Tekken, 

You try to mock my style, but that makes no sense
Cuz you hanging on my rap, with intense suspense

You try to give headbutts, but I elevate with words
Constructive criticism, to help all soar like birds

Money ain't the endgame, it's the wisdom we chase
Breakin' through illusions, every challenge we face

Luck ain't a factor, it's the fire in our core
But NIgga you don't got that, you just ash on the floor

You can talk about graces, or reach for the stars,
Yo so outta whack, time to go home to Mars.
Round 3
Buddy, you’re a faker. 
So stand and meet your maker. 

I created you and all these wackass mumble-rappers. 

Hanging on to your rhymes with suspense?
Keep spouting that nonsense. 

All the shit you say is baffling, so keep rappin’ outta tune, we’ll just keep on laughin’ because you’re just a fuckin loon. 

This is to Forensics

You think you can handle me, Method-Man?
Better take a step back and re-think your plan

Why such a short response?  Cat got your tongue
Or did K-Rino kick, all the air out ya lung?

I've been spittin' flames since the early days
And you're just another rapper caught in my blaze

I told you you're ash, a pile of dust on the floor
You shoulda really listened, at let yourself out the door

Your words are nothing but a cloud of hot air
Really affecting climate-change,  do you even care?

I'm K-Rino, the master of the lyrical flow
And you're just a pretender, a has-been sideshow

I spit my verses with precision and skill
While you're just tryna grab some cheap ass thrills

You say you created me and these other rappers
Nigga let's be real, you're just a fuckin' actor

You claim to be king of the Wu-Tang Clan
The owner of a broken crown,  pfff I aint no fan.

I've been in the game for over 30 years
And my lyrical power, gives you nothing but tears

My words hit harder than a hurricane's force
While yours are just a weak, a flimsy fuckin' source

I've battled many rappers throughout my time
But none of them can match my lyrical climb

I rap about what really matters, and what hurts
From the struggles of life to the pain of broken flirts.

You add nothing to the zeitgeist, not even your C.R.E.A.M.
You're a blip on the radar, a tiny, insignificant stream.

You can hate on my flow all you want
But I'm still gonna leave you in a lyrical taunt

I've got the style and the finesse
You're so pathetic, just trying to impress

So, take a seat and watch me shine
Nigga; your rhymes are so cheap, not worth a dime.
Round 4
Yo, Method Man, where you at?
You said you were ready for the rap attack.

But when it came time to face the man, 
You were nowhere to be seen ,you had another plan.

You talk a big game, but can't back it up, 
Your rhymes are weak, and you're getting old as fuck.

You're just a has-been, living in the past,
While I'm here, spitting flames to the very last.

You think your all cleaver, with thoughts under your hat,
But you aint got nothing buts thoughts of your cat.

You're old and tired, your rhymes are expired,
You can't keep up, you're so retired.

So listen up, Method Man, you had a choice,
You had your chance, now it's my voice.

I'm the king of the game, the master of the flow,
And you're just a relic, a thing of the past, it's time to let go..

Round 5
Gotta plagiarize my own lines just to keep up with me, old man? 
You got less originality than a copycat stan. 
I called you a hasbeen first. Either rewrite them lines or throw them in the trash bin. 

You have no rhymers, cuz you’re just some old nigga with Alzheimer’s. 
It ain’t about your years, it’s about the mileage.
You’re a flat tire, today’s the day you retire.

Built like a wither skeleton and you aged like a banana.
Should I stick you in a nursing home somewhere in Montana? 

Bout time you stop drinking that prune juice, training like a soldier in North Korea, so please stop with the verbal diarrhea. 

You ain’t the king of the game, I’m ahead of my time. You’re just a peasant still catching up with the present. 

So cry and have your little bitch-fit. Boo-hoo!
Cuz one forfeit and I’m still ahead of you.

I step up to the mic, and I spit hot fire
My rhymes are sharp, they cut like a wire

I came to this battle and showed my fame
And put up with your shit, your so fuck'n lame

MethodMan, you stepped up to the plate
But your rhymes were weak, they couldn't relate

You stumbled and bumbled, you couldn't keep up
While I rocked the mic, with my sick flow erupt

I'm the king of the game, thats no debate
You came up short, your rhymes couldn't translate

My lyrics are lethal, they hit like a bomb
While you stood there, looking all kinds of wrong

So let's end this battle, with no hesitation
You couldn't beat me, it's no exaggeration

K-Rino's the name, and I'm the rap king
MethodMan, you're pathetic, it's a simple thing.