A song of Fire versus Ice-
You a squire, I'm an honorary knight;
Valyrian sword while you carry a knife.
The Rap Game of Thrones,
You barely survive.
I castrate you like greyjoy
Then, I'm 'a make you my slaveboy.
Now you be prayin to seven deities
That I don't whip you with chains coiled.
You 'bout to get killed in a fighting pit.
I'm the rightful heir, you might as well quit.
You fired some arrows and missed.
You look like a sparrow, you poorer than shit,
And now you'll be burned and flayed.
Return to your cage.
Bring me some wine.
The king has arrived.
Spittin that basilisk venow and now
You cling for life.
My raps are born from Melisandre's twat.
Yours are bloody boring.
I'd rather listen to Hodor rap.
Me? I'm bigger than Brienne of Tarth.
You? You're not even a half.
I do to your family what the Freys did to each of the Starks.
I could beat you every day of the week.
Your name's not NLJ, it's Reek.
I slay a beat like Ramsay Bolton.
Turn the heat from cold to molten.
While I sit on the Iron Throne,
You sit and iron at home.
I'm a wildling lout wilding out.
The trail behind me's a pile of bones.
You gaze into the flames,
In hope for wages and to be famous.
No stress; no pain,
Means no conquest; no gain.
Your lyrics were sent to you by a raven.
Who are you again? You have many faces.
Make it rain from the Iron Bank.
I pay assassins for your Direstraits.
I see your empire of pride and hate;
Trial by combat or hide from fate.
I spit fire on your zombie body,
Till you're covered in blisters.
You've been falling of since you
caught me fucking your sister.
So bow and stop defendin',
cause now your watch has ended.
I cross the narrow sea through flaming arrows,
east to lhazareen.
I ride on the back of a dragon beast,
You struggle to ride this track on the beat.
I'm applying violence,
From Iron Oaks to the Iron Islands
So Pray to the old gods and the new too,
Provide you guidance.
My presence is bigger than Tywin's;
You're as thick as the mountain.
My words pierce ears with the precision of needle;
You're an Idiot shouting.
Every single track I hear,
You just repeat that one flow.
You're an eejit.
To paraphrase Ygritte:
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
You in pain;
No milk of the poppy.
Full of shame;
Your lyrics are sloppy.
Sword of the Morning
Shinin, so bright.
Call me Rhlor,
But Lord of the Mic.
Back from the dead,
Dragon sky head from Daenerys Targaryen.
Conquer the war with Robert's rebellion.
Cut off your dwarf dick,
No need for sellin' it.
Outnumbered a thousand to one,
I'll still defeat your standing army.
I'm ready; I'm heavy.
I better be renamed
The Notorious Samwell Tarly.
I'm the one true king of Nerdcore.
Whatever else you my wish,
I've got more cunning in my little finger.