Begin

[Mr. T]
I pity the fool who tries to step to Clubber Lang
Call me BA biceps cause I'll [bad word] your whole gang
Bring Tuesday, Friday and little trolly the train and watch me dip their [bad word] in gold
And wear em 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 Mr. T bag you, in the closest cemetery
Nobody's gonna miss you cause all your friends imaginary

["Mister Rogers"]
Hi there neighbor
I 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 in my Emmy's. I teach the whole world full of children. I can tell you call yourself T cause you're 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 40 year old virgin in a dumpy @ss house
I'll get Hannibal, Murdoch and Face to stomp you out 

The only [bad word] cat you ever seen is on Henrietta, SUCKA!
And your Mr. McFeely, delivers a lot more than letters
So before [bad word] to battle with your PBS [bad word] How bout I call up CPS about them kids on your lap, FOOL!

["Mister Rogers"]
Watch what you say. Kids love me more than lunch. I'm not the one with my face on some whack [bad word] Captain [bad word] 
When my [bad word] together you won't even see [bad word]  
I'll chop you into four black dudes and I'll remake [bad word]  
I'll say this once, Laurence. I hope it's understood, get right back in your van and get the f&ck outtake my neighborhood.