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FULL VIDEO HERE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gv10exNDXcE

Here it is, the full script of the project first teased via its short version in my previous blog!

MERB24FullVersion


MOLEMAN'S EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MAD MAX…

…VS…

THE VAULT DWELLER!!!!!!!!!!!!

BEGIN!!!


• "Mad" Max Rockatansky: •

Two men go to war out on the wasted roadside;

Take a guess of how many gonna leave this place alive.

Yo, welcome to the post–apocalyptic land down under;

We Don't Need Another Hero 'round and out to steal my thunder.

Must be Mad to the Max to try and tackle Rockatansky;

Got the rad and Gutsy raps for any task like Mister Handy.

I'm a well–oiled machine amid a world that's gone to pig shit;

Main Patrol Force on the highway, dishing lead in lieu of tickets!

Hell–bent on kicking asses as I am for donning leather,

Running Mari–posers over in my Falcon Interceptor.

Boy, you'll lose it all when I unleash my vocal engine roar;

Humungus hollers that'll shake your flimsy region to the Core!

Surrender now for safe passage; don't bust that deal,

Lest an unlucky 13–er face a spin of the wheel.

A broken water chip is gonna be the least of all your problems,

When I chain you up and make you Saw your foot off like my shotgun!


• The Vault Dweller: •

Maaaaybe you should start retreating, Raggedy Man:

Hop over back to your tribe, and stick to playing their Peter Pan.

Your Goose is bound to be cooked when I kneecap a punk down,

'Cause I'm the Master with a Blaster who decide who run Junktown!

I'll make a Bloody Mess of you, FUBAR as any Centaur,

Loot your mutilated corpse, and then record it in my memoirs!

Your Intellect is limited; I'm Gifted, full of genius:

Decimate you like the Khans, and never let you pull a phoenix,

When I cut off your toes, leave you a shell of a man,

And blind you with my Red Ryder, just as well as I can.

Part you on the terms I did my Overseer back at home,

And you won't see Tomorrow–morrow; never get to Thunderdome!

Spitting rhymes with S.P.E.C.I.A.L. style, aimed to put you in your place,

And Pox–eclipse your lines, as sterile as the Super Mutant race.

My California raps will put your Tupac tribute straight to shame;

I've got a BFF in Dogmeat. What's your mongrel even named?


• Mad Max: •

Rarely one for many words, but now you've got me mighty riled,

And so I hurl 'em like a razor boomerang; a wild child!

Verses piercing as a blaring doggie whistle; you'll be deafened,

Crash–and–burning like a Boeing Jumbo 747.

Won't be long for the living 'less you get it set to fleeing;

Even then, I'll maybe shoot you in the back and call me Ian.

I'm the man who makes a difference when I'm taking up command,

Trucking tankers' worth of disses; yours'll fall as flat as sand.


• The Vault Dweller: •

Wanna talk about Sands? I'd be a pro on the subject:

Watch me grace a barren land and plant the seeds of a Republic.

You're as big a fool as Harry, the mutie Unity bumpkin,

And I'll beat you black and blue before I smash you like a pumpkin.

Bitch, you battle like a brahmin; yo, your other head is missing!

Wrong the Dweller, you'll be pressed to find a Deathclaw less forgiving.

Raider–razing, hater–hazing, ace trailblazer of a guy;

I built Arroyo, but my poems' flow is never running dry!


• Mad Max: •

Keep your speeches, Fallout Boy, 'cause you can take 'em to your grave!

Your situation sees no spooky Stranger set to make a save;

You've fewer means of beating me than working cars around to drive.

Only Tina Turner crosses the Road Warrior and survives!


• The Vault Dweller: •

It's time to drop a bombshell: I'm packing backing, got a team.

Three friends to leave you like Lou Tenant: come apart at the seams!

The first'll make grandpappy proud when he's inheriting the scene,

And so I'm out; you'll find me up at the Café of Broken Dreams.


The Chosen One: •

They say war never changes, but I'm switching up the beats,

So gimme one to build a dream on, and I'll bring the flaming heat!

I can aggrieve and roast a rival, hot as tools of bursting atoms,

But perceive your boasts as idle; not a bullet's worth to back 'em.

I was born a Chosen Champion, and now I'm fully–grown:

A Prizefighter movie star, and got a car to call my own.

Made Man down in Reno, gecko–ganker up in Oregon;

Cross my line of fire, you're as dead as Franky Horrigan!

You've all the charm of Myron, with the courage of Pariah,

While the G.E.C.K. has nothing on the miracles of this messiah.

You can't even trump this tribal in your dreams, you petty loser,

'Cause I'll have Hakunin haunt them; make you scream like Freddy Krueger!

BOOM! Blast you with my Bozar, modded to the peak of pain,

Then make a retarded Skynet with your misshapen, mangled brain.

I'll roll a plasma rifle critical and turn you straight to mush;

Scold you so badly, even Sergeant Dornan's face would have to blush.


• Mad Max: •

Is that the best that you could scavenge up, you carbon copy stand–in?

Either way, I guess our candidness of combat is abandoned.

Mate, I don't mind fighting dirty; that's the norm in the outback,

So here's the aforementioned Entity who run my soundtrack:


• Tina Turner: •

Ooooh, I'm Breaking Every Rule, and heads are gonna gyrate!

Aunty's stacking up the ante on this toe–consuming primate.

Must be hopped on Ultrajet to think you'll top the Acid Queen;

This here's a verbal drive–by out up on Highway Nineteen!

Four times more a rhythm–ruler than my thuggish druggie husband:

Twenty–Four–Seven–soulful; skill in plentiful abundance.

Love's got none at all to do with it, 'cause simply, I'm the Best,

And you'd do the same being good to me and showing some respect!

Your Wildest Dreams'll be the only place you'll ever see me thwarted;

Punt you up to Trial Temple, send you right Back Where You Started.

Mmmmm, I'll bring you to your knees, but still I won't be satisfied,

Until I go full–GoldenEye and strike you with a satellite!


• The Chosen One: •

Ol' Anna Mae can shove it like a cake up in her face;

I'll sink her Mary harder than an Enclave oil rigger base.

Alas, I hear my village beckon, needing leading from this beast host,

And so I leave your wrecking to my buddy on the East Coast:


The Lone Wanderer: •

Trouble on the Homefront? There's no need to fear;

Our last, best hope of victory, the Wanderer is here!

A shining karmic paragon you'll be incapable of staining:

Hear the DJ praise my name; a saint unsuitable for framing.

I assault controlling dolts in Vaults; revolt against compliance,

Battle worse–than–average bears by day and lay at night with Lyons!

I'm a hero, you're a phony; Mechanist is less a joke,

So you and Aunty Agonizer best skedaddle 'fore you're smoked.

You're backwards–assed as communists, so call me Liberty Prime;

A lyric Project Purity to purge a track of crappy rhymes,

With gibes designed get your G.O.A.T. while keeping Rivetingly real.

Don't wanna set the world on fire, but a mic's another deal!

No Survival Guide's enough to make you half a match for me,

When I drop Megaton bombs just like an MIRV!

I am the Alpha and Omega, here to state a Revelation:

You're as full of it as Eden, and I'm shutting down your station,

'Cause I need no V.A.T.S. assistance hitting rhythms with precision,

Spitting mesmerizing phrases; straight enslaving competition.

Whacking hacks for talking smack and chopping up their puny meat,

With perks aplenty, every quantum; Nuka–Break–the–scale–elite.

My power's Not of This World; no replicating this man,

And Tunnel Snakes are cool and all, but yo, I rule the Wasteland!

With Hellfire–forged duds and nifty bobbleheads to tout,

My will of steel is never broken; Almost Perfect, not a doubt.


• Tina Turner: •

The boy's an ace, and by Nichiren, I'm too old to play his game.

Sorry, Maxie; Tina's out, so maybe pass the mic to Bane.


• Mad Max: •

I guess a Private Dancer's not as good a private rapping tool;

Still, no goody–goody daddy's boy is making me his fool!

It's time to maximize the madness like a Dunwich aberration;

F.E.V. can't hold a candle to my final transformation!

*FLASH*


• Mad Mel Gibson: •

Ring, ring, ring! You'd better pick up the receiver,

So my words can verbal–rape you like a pack of Feral Reavers!

Got the beat under my influence, and you're the one who's crashing;

Bringing Payback, and I punish with a Patriotic Passion!

Leave a Man Without a Face, my curses cutting like a cleaver;

Chew you up and spit you out, and then I'll blame it on the Beaver!

Freaking own Malibu, and now I'm taking D.C.;

An Icon, and ain't no bounty hunter's regulating me!

You must be a jew, 'cause this is war, and you're the one to fault,

So gimme back my win, or else I'm setting fire to your Vault!

I'll make iguana on a stick, where the iguana's your intestines,

But before I do, get on your knees and blow my Lethal Weapon!


• The Lone Wanderer: •

Think your daffy rants are gonna threaten me, you bigot clown?

I oughta shoot you in the head the way I took Tenpenny down,

But my Pip-Boy says I've got a summons back across the river,

And the last of our quartet is nearly ready to deliver…


• Mad Mel Gibson: •

Let me guess: you're hanging up and calling in another friend,

But Mel is one tough motherfucker, and he won't be getting scared!

Plus, I bet you plan to torture me before this battle's end;

Well, go ahead and bring it on! You know my nipples are prepared.


The Courier: •

Express shipment, delivery for Old Man Gibson;

Contents: bitch bent to give this prick a head–kicking.

Lucky 38–er lady with a statement to proclaim:

Number Six is fourth in line, but number one at taking names!

I'm a max–implanted, grave–evading exlobotomite;

Your ass is Crazy, Crazy, Crazy as the wackest kin of night!

When I bring out my Wild Card, I'll be the one and only Victor;

Scorching you so hard, you'll almost wish for nuclear winter!

White Glove–level Luxe, without the pesky people–eating;

Knock a sucker off the Tops, and leave his checkered rear retreating.

Hanlon had a reason lying; when you do it, It's a Sin,

And like Elijah's clouded mind, I won't let you begin again!

I can serve a word–bombardment worthy of the mighty Boomers,

Bet against the House and win, and sabotage a tyrant's tumor.

Freely treading on the Bear and decimating Legion bitches;

No Gods, No Masters, and my friends have "Off" switches!

Beating me's a longer shot than for a ghoulish spaceman;

It's never even gonna happen in the Wild Wasteland.

I'll call a Boone–headshot; you'll never see it 'til you're splattered,

'Cause when all the chips are down, I've got the only one that matters.

Legend like the Burned Man, my mention making haters nervous;

Rock you harder than Ulysses' world, and do it all on purpose!

Rolling triple–twenty sixes, and I'll sack your Caravan,

Before I show you to my bouncer:

Yes Man: Let me show you Hoover Dam!


(*Mad Mel Gibson emits a Goofy Holler as Yes Man chucks him from the highest tower on Hoover Dam*)


WHO WON?

WHO'S NEXT?

I DECIDE!!!!!!!!

MOLEMAN'S EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHO WON? (It should be obvious which "side" won, so let's just go with individuals for this)
 
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1
 
6
 

The poll was created at 14:48 on September 21, 2014, and so far 12 people voted.