The debate is finished. The distribution of the voting points and the winner are presented below.
Winner & statistics
After 2 votes and with 8 points ahead, the winner is...
- Publication date
- Last updated date
- Number of rounds
- Time for argument
- Three days
- Max argument characters
- Voting period
- One week
- Point system
- Multiple criterions
- Voting system
May the better ryhmes win. All insults in good fun, no profanity.
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our venue. I urge the crowd to listen closely, because sophisticated insults are on the menu. Our battle is all about class, I insist, my dear readers, there's no need to be crass. These debates don't yeild much for the Son, but even, I dare say, the most pious of saints need their fun.
My opponent is named Speedrace, but is this name suitable? I think my opponents rhymes will actually be quite slow, this fact is indisputable. My opponent is a boy. A child and a lad, but I shall roast him with joy, any comebacks will be sad.
My opponent is a lightning bolt, so flashy, and so hot. But as the battle rages on, one will see my opponents just a tot.
My opponent likes to race, but if he wishes to continue, he's in dire need of grace.
Speedrace wants to be a lawyer, a man learned in law.
But I don't see a fancy future for him as this. I hope he learns to use a saw.
I shan't be so hard on the child, his manners are quite mild. It's just he needs some life experience, because the things I've seen are wild.
He has my respect, the kid's a budding apologist. But his debating style is conventional. I think we get the gist.
I have a special place for speedrace, because he tries to debate the heathen. But for the love of mercy, I've been fighting this battle since before he was even breathing. You see I'm like speedys overseer, I suppose you could call me his elder. The child has a bright future indeed, I see him as a welder
Thank you all and yes, this was intended to be light-hearted.
Hi, how ya doing? I hope you enjoy the show / I'll try to overcome my opponent's lack of tempo
I try to be organized, it's very eye-pleasing / and now, get ready, for the victory I will be seizing
And don't worry old man, I can go blow for blow / I'm certainly young, but at least I have flow!
I'm lightning, sir, and I know how to rap / All you are is the remains of Thanos' snap
My opponent makes all of his vote periods long / To hold off inevitably being proved wrong
Your idea of a diss is that you hope I learn to use a saw? / In that case, why don't you get a brush, a canvas, and learn to draw?
I hope you realize, now, from my lightning, you have been stricken / That's simply what happens when you play like a chicken
Get out of here, sir, you can't make a good roast / just like that chicken, you're about to be toast
I usually match my opponents line for line / But you're so easy, I already know the win is mine
Who needs effort when I have you? Your prospects are looking grim / Because, let's be honest, the only vote you'll get will be from RM
Jiminy crickets! This battle won't be selling tickets! My opponent shows no eloquence, I say take him hence! My youngster battle rapper really just revealed the capper. There no class no style, this won't even take a while.
My opponent thinks this the hood, but son I'm playing Bach, you simply cannot think of a reply, my rhymes are like a rock. This really isn't the street corner, this is a place for gentlemen. My opponent doesn't even have facial hair yet, lad, go play in the den!
My opponent can't handle my stanzas, my ryhmes are too rich, my opponents twelfth birthday is right around the corner, I'll plan it without a hitch. My opponent simply cannot be a lawyer, the lad doesn't have the mind. This is called a drill, enjoy your daily grind.
My opponent isn't fancy, he doesn't even sound British. This is a real man rhyming, my opponets just too skittish.
***drops golden microphone ***
Before we start, let me make a correction. You must use an apostrophe to show any possession. I'll advise my opponent to continue at discretion, this is quickly going from a debate to a concession.
I am not British, but I am quite cultivated. I maintain a cool demeanor without becoming agitated. My opponent, however, is simply old and outdated. He may have the years, but I am the one who's educated.
Not only can I rhyme, but I can spell correctly. My opponent gave up on grammar abjectly. Don't let him trick you into thinking he's an intellectual. All of his actions are quite ineffectual.
My twelfth birthday's gone, but twelfth place is just ahead. My opponent is staring at fifty-first instead. I'm unclear as to why he sent me this battle. I'm speaking properly, he's resorting to prattle.
Oh sweet humanity, I simply cannot take the insanity
I tried ever so hard, to bring a touch of class, to a world given to clash.
What did I find? My attempt, shattered like glass.
My opponent did not catch on, this was a chance, to smoke cigars and roast with words like "hither and yon"
Instead of elegance, I got a sing song and a dance.
My attempt, oh debate art, stifled, my mind in a trance.
And who shall console me of these ills? Shall I be mocked? Am I not green around the gills?
My opponents lack of fancy, literally might kill me. Putting me among the crushed
And now, debate art, I lay me down, to sit in the ashes.
To sit in the dust.
There I find my attempt. Shattered to sand. I go now, and move along to those who meet the demand.
To be fancy, to be eloquent, my opponent couldn't stand.
My opponent can't handle my class
He stays on a lower level and resorts to being crass
I only talk proper and stick out my pinky
He goo goo's and ga ga's and uses a binky
He insults me with his horrendous claims
He collapses into dust and ashes, his many names
At the end of this struggle, who shall get the blame?
Shall it be me, or him, who stayed tame?
My opponent can't take a single risk
He's afraid if he steps up, he'll slip a disc
I'm young and spry, I can jump and whisk
I am prominent and distinguished, he's categorized as misc.
I refuse to go down to that level
I am dignified and not disheveled
If you wanted me to give up, I'm sorry to disappoint
But, as the colloquial saying goes, I "run this joint"