Awww, look, Ice rhymed "first" with..."first"
Oh, I know you hate when I get semantical, but I just bet your lips is pursed
from the strain of thinking of some additional words that could be interspersed
throughout your lines, which have gone from bad to just the worst

When I'm readin 'em, I can't decide if it's my eyes or my ears that's cursed
Here I was about to regain some respect for you, but now my bubble's been burst
Naw, I know it can be hard to find words that rhyme when you're not well-versed
in your native language or when the pages of your dictionary are untraversed

Maybe you'd like my copy of The Complete MC Workbook--please, just make sure I'm reimbursed
Or hell, it would even help if you spent two minutes listenin to that a$$hole Fred Durst
Sorry if now your fragile ego needs to be nursed
But I can't see how else my low opinon of your rapping could be reversed

Ice struttin with the best of ‘em, child
you just jealous ‘cause he ruttin buck wild like it’s goin outta style
bok bik or bik bokkin, it don’t matta what come first
‘cept when Queen B clockin tryin to reach T’s wurst first

I will admit that that hive dwella busts a mean rhyme
and she ain’t afraid to high five this fella every once in a time
even though every stanza cuts like a knife
and I don’t mean Bryan Adams - though brotha’s hits be havin a cryogenic shelf life

even if you could go back in time, like the Summer of ‘69
ain’t no way you’d put a stop to this non-stop train of pure rappin brain, comin down the mainline
so sit back and take a lesson – maybe even give my shoes a shine
like Busy Bee (http://www.jayquan.com/busybee.htm) I’m runnin thangs, every day, all the time…

What's up, Ice--you miss me? Or are you tryin to think of new ways to diss me
now that you're back in town? Go ahead-- I'm ready to throw down
On the bike or on the mic, anywhere and anyway that you like--
doesn't really matter since I'm easily defeated on either...psych!

For realz, your name says it all, Ice--your pace is glacial
You still clippin in and I'm at a spa gettin a facial
and a massage to relax after another cyclysmic victory
Damn, even on a trail-a-bike, you couldn't keep up with me...

T-Dub does truly put the 'wurst' in knockwurst
But Ice wishes he could strut like that, bik-bokfirst

You know you love hearin me rap, jack
Why else you keep answerin back with all your triflin yakkity yak?
You'd be pinchin my jams even if they was on 8-track--
either that or you like the look of my rack (and can't nobody fault you for that)

Ice, you more like Sprout than any big green hulking beast
B's the one who piloted the Green Giant through its first Ride for the Feast
And what's worse--your skinsuit ain't just used, it's leased
I hope before you put it on you had that $hit degreased

And yeah, you right I know that below these killer quads are the Queen B's knees
so quick drop to yours and serve me up a stinger, please
'cuz a second-rate soigneur is all your a$$ is qualified to be--
at least until the guy retires who cleans the SAG wagon windows with a rusty squeegee

Dreamin? It’s already been seen that all you wack crackas is schemin
to take what Ice rightly won in this battle, all I hear is “me me me” an’
all I hear is bad lyrics gettin indescribably worse, while all I see is
you still tryin to play I Spy with Dub’s diaper-clad knockwurst

while you think it funny to suggest I got somethin for the man in one white garment
it’s cause he a parody of hisself that I always take pot shots at that varmint
you think you the bee's knees but you two like peas in a pod to my Jolly Green Giant
crushin you like fleas with ease when you tryin hard to be defiant

and I take back what I said about you playin wit’ ya Cube, hizzle
I know it musta been a Rubik Snake, ‘cause that wasn’t even a puzzle for rizzle
I’ll admit you almost got me with your line ‘bout moldin clay with that T fellow
if you admit you the one they sculpted in Lionel Richie’s video for “Hello”

You call it fallin back on semantix
I call it pointin out you keep makin the same lame mistakes
Until you come correct and make it a challenge to cut you to the quick
I'll just keep skimmin the surface of my verbal bag o'trix

G-hopper, there's nothin weak about givin respect when it's due (which it ain't, now, to you)
I'm saying that's somethin Hincapie--and B--could teach you
even when leaving all comers in the dust where they belong
See, I know there's no pride in defeating the lame when I can defeat the strong

That's why you need to slow it down, step it up, and stop dreamin
if you want any more attention in this battle from me
Cuz your prissy, preenin', in-need-of-weanin,
overgeared wannabe-Belgian style's giving me nothin but ennui

(Oh, and you must be livin in Belle Reve with Blanche duBois
if you think any French honey is askin you to "coucher avec moi"
Before you drop your chamois, check her iPod
cuz she prolly just singing out loud along with "Lady Marmalade")

Once again, she relies on semantics
to try to keep pace with my madcap mic antics
if you know how to spell Rubik’s correctly, must be ‘cause you at home playin witcha toy
while I slayin rappas like you, makin ‘em look ‘bout as tough as the cover of U2’s Boy

you think Georgie H bein nice to the competition?
he leavin ‘em for dead on the cobbles of Ghent-Wevelgem while you dirty dishin
doin chores for the mastas of this game, pretendin somebody knows your name
while you caught in the flow of this rappin lion’s mane

if my rocks pop the seams of my chamois, it’s ‘cause like Chocolade Jacques
I got the Parisian ladies sayin “Vouslez vous couchez avec moi?”
after drinkin champagne and eatin fois gras
while you still lookin for the start of the race in Charleroi

like late 911 you wearin the late crown
started with a smiley face but now you wearin a frown
when Ice take the stage you oughta just learn to bow down
‘steada pretendin Gears is anything more than a plural noun...

Check it, your recall is weak--B didn't beg for mercy
I gave Ice props; leave it to you to use that against me
Is that how you wanna be? Damn, b$tch, you sure ain't no Hincapie
It's aight you can't appreciate me; just know those're the last words of respect you get from me

So who was it you heard beggin for clemency?
Musta been the seams of your extra-small lycra onesie
You think they hug your shameful a$$, but they really screamin "please, no, you don't fit in me!!"
(Somethin I'm sure Ice never hear from the ladies...)

And speaking of tiny pickles, it sure do tickle me
your worryin about how often my wanderin eyes be
heading T-dub's way; I'm thinkin it must be jealousy
except you ain't jealous of him--you jealous of ME

You need me outta your way so you and TW can play
roll in the hay, mold each other like clay...
All this time, is that what you been tryin to say?
If so, B's happy to obey and be on her bike and on her way

Before I go, PLEASE playa, how many times I gotta say
Consult a dictionary before you send your words my way
RubiK's cube--That's right, this rhyme was brought to you by the letter K
Unless you were tryin to be edgy with that X, in which case, um...try again another day

Let’s see - If I recall, the rats is in yo wack metropolis
I believe they call it Charm but my guess is they coul’nt think up a synonym for bad rap-opolis
and before you dis Sisyphus, remember who was the sissy first
back when my lines ‘bout plein air PJs left you sayin stop, it hurts

my skills’ll roast you like Laurent Fignon, I’m always the first to be done racin
I dine on filet mignon while you fumble for your empty bidon at the back of the peloton, chasin
aw snap – and the closest you get to the Tour, or anything de France
is eyein the cornichon in TWs off-brand French underpants

my rhymes leave ya perplexed like a Rubix Cube
while you tryin to post your C-grade “rap video” on YouTube
yo rhymes so tired they smell like must
or is it B’s favorite pheromone they call E-Z Lust?

You don't gotta listen to my bitchin but you best step back
This kitchen we cookin in is up in MY house, jack
You the New Kid on this Team Atomic Block--remember that
I'm the Queen of this castle; you can take your trash talk out back with the rats

You got legs like Boonen? I hope not fueled by the snow he's spoonin
You call yourself a rappin jack, but sound more like hack looney tunin
Please leave that clap trap at home if you ride to the 'nap in June and
don't try to deny that the numer of times I defeat you with rhymes is gonna keep balloonin

You right there's somethin funky with your trunk but it ain't your junk that's got people starin'
Maybe your I Can't Believe It's Not Butt'r is as used as that skinsuit you wearin'
That stench has the weak faintin--not swoonin'--and even my eyes are tearin'
Time to breakaway like Jeannie Longo, cuz lord knows that funk ain't worth bearin'

Oh, and one more thing about you tryin to raise a fuss
You think you clever cuz you namecheck Sisyphus?
Ice ain't no more clever than Fudgie the Whale and his homeboy Cookie Puss
Keep crackin like that and I'm have to take you to skool on the short bus

If you can’t stand the heat, get outta the kitchen
I guarantee you MC Lyte wouldn’ta been caught bitchin
or slammin my rhymes ‘cause you jealous a my speed
it’s a fact indeed, or maybe just a rash that need itchin

yo lacklusta lines ‘bout as tiresome as Busta Rhymes
join forces and you could be Mr. and Mrs. Smith - now that’s a sad sign of our troubled times
give this rappin jack a trike and forthwith I’ll make ya wish
your bike had four wheels so it wasn’t just yo a$$ that go ‘swish’

next time you frontin, keep in mind who’s really got the trunk a funk an’
maximum endurance to always stay at the front an’
legs like Boonen, why the betties be swoonin an’
why I straight rock this battle all the way to the grandstand

they ain’t no denyin, you might as well stop tryin like you ill
but I know like Sisyphus you’ll still keep tryin to roll that rock up this hill
if you expect this MC to slow my beats and take a chill pill
I’ma have to say “Ohh Nooo!” like my man Mr. Bill

Ice, please, with all due deference
why not let B show you how to throw down a reference
as I wrap my fingers round your mic, try to maintain an air of reverence
while I take you to skool and give you your comeuppance

On the bike I can roll with the Heat and the Cold
and on the mic I leave Ice feelin heat from my bold
accusations of what seem to be mad crazy exaggerations
of his gift for composing rhythmic vocalizations

Especially in comparison to these verbal gifts I been sharing
bewitchin every listener like Samantha did Darin
while Ice busy worryin bout what skinsuit he wearing
and how his legs gonna look after he's done Nairing

Ice like to say "the Kid don't Play", right?
but you act like you battlin Simon's brain, not throwin down in a serious fight
cuz those lines you droppin fast and loose sound like MC Lightweight to my MC Lyte
The moral of this rhyme is slow your roll to keep it tight

You wanna write enough lines to keep up with this haus, you gonna have to take a year off
unless they suspend you for cheatin, like that molotov Alexandre Vinokourov
buildin EPO bridges between nations, he from Kazakhstan - same as Borat
and just like that bridge in Iowa that roll whether it hot or cold, I’m long and I’m strong and that’s why they call me Ice y Hot

I’m like Claude Criquielion , used to ride for Hitachi
smokin the peloton while you watch Free Willy next to your hibachi
whether they my wheels or my rhymes, my superfine lines turn on a dime, reach back to the beginning of time
while you scramble for a bit part in Do They Know Its Christmastime

you ain’t even fit to give my shoes a shine, it’s ironic
how you front with this man who may as well be bionic
I drop it harder than Joop Zootemelk, or Teun Van Vliet from Panasonic
and Joop rated higher in the record books than even Coppi and De Vlaeminck

so you best look fo anotha J-O-B - like Ice Cube in Friday, dogg
you can toss Michael’s ABCs on the “Stuff White People Like” blog
‘cause when things heat up I’m straight up Belgian, I’ll sink ya like a Wallonian bog -
and don’t mention my De Panne debacle or I’ll come back and roast ya like a Virginia hog…

You sayin you can't handle my vocabulary?
That's cool; me 'n the Jackson Five can break it down for you easy as 1-2-3:
Andy Hampsten might ride a Huffy to victory
but you more like a dandy hampster in a wheel goin nowhere, see?

It ain't just words--your knowledge of geography is hardly collegian
Check a map, fool, and you'll see De Panne ain't Dutch, it's Belgian
So playa PLEASE stop all that sad jabberin--it's downright stygian
and just get back in line with the suckaz ridin behind me--not cuz they slow, but cuz I'm callipygian

BB 6.12.08 no. 1

Usin words like ‘illuminate’ and ‘nigh’ ? Cracka, you must be high
I’ma have to fumigate my monitor after I wipe my tear-stained eye
from cryin ‘bout how low you’ve sunk – I see you frownin as you drownin
like the Titanic ‘neath the crush of my four-line slam dunk

and if you think ‘Coppi’ rhyme with ‘Nazis’, $hit girl, please
you must have a damn speech impediment with pairings such as these
draggin Gino’s good name through sediment like overcooked pasta calamarata
Italians be shippin you off to Islamorada, you can forget the frittata

you no better than the fascists that dogged my man Ottavio Bottecchia
only thing you know about Italia is yo misinterpreted lyrics to La Isla Bonita
so, like AC/DC, when I reply to your faint rap cry it’s like givin a dog a bone
my dual needles grace the shellac while you got yo finger in the air like ET tryin to phone home

my rhymes cut you down to size, don’t even need my backhand
they straight leave you lookin like Tattoo from Fantasy Island
and the next time you diss Huffy, best do some fact-checkin
Andy Hampsten Huffy’d to Giro victory back when he was ridin for 7-11…

BB 6.11.08 no. 2

Ice is whackin somethin but I don't think it's track
cuz he seem to still be thinkin bout how B look from the back
cept when he busy coughin up stuff that sound like Bill the Cat sayin "Ack!"
and frontin like it's rap an' he ain't just a Huffy-ridin hack

If this ain't a battle it's cuz you ain't no Coppi
Me, I know I roll like Gino--to feed the hungry with HIV or fight the Nazis
Any race I'm in that you win it's cuz I gave you victory,
not cuz you beat me and my Bianchi legitimately, see?

So, playa, don't hate--congratulate
me on the way my words illuminate your fate
as a sucka who will always take my bait
and try to prove you rate even tho you always cross the finish line too late

Ice, don't make me remind you that my words are so fly
that fools pay me to tell 'em the difference between "lay" and "lie"
cuz they like my ifs, ands, and buts and they can't deny
what you refuse to accept--that my supremacy in this rap battle is nigh

BB 6.11.08 no. 1

Don’t worry, Ice be fine - he relax like Frankie Goes to Hollywood
there’s no denyin my rhymes leave ya cryin, as they should – and you knew they would
you wanna talk wine? yo rhymes is like turpentine to my L’Ecole No. 9
this MC sip consommé broth at white tablecloths while you eat week-old Ostrowskis ‘n brine

Don’t worry, I know you tryin to hang tough with your 7” NKOTB
my beats leave ya eardrums double-stuffed, make your Oreo samples sound like TuTone dialin Jenny
8675309 – seven numbers is half of how many times I beat yo $$ to the finish line
and don’t bring up semantics ‘bout “Ride” versus “race” – you couldn’t drop this rhyme slayer with a can a mace

This maligned rappa pennin double time
while you have to send yoself Usofynes
'cause all the playas in the hood turned a blind eye to yo non-skinsuited behind
amount of free laughs I git on yo behalf, it’s a mothaf*ckin crime

So please, for my own sanity
put an end to yo rappin vanity
I’m getting bored of your rhymnes, they so dopey – mopey, like Opie
this ain’t a battle like Bartali and Coppi

It ain’t even fair, ya see – if Ice was a religion I’d have you excommunicated for hip hop heresy
my microphone thunda leave you blind like Stevie Wonda
if T-dub’s sleepin bag was nearby, we all know you’d be seekin cova
so don’t even pretend you can keep up with this track-whackin brotha…

Blaze Battle 32: Electric Boogaloo

Relax, Ice, B's back, it's a fact
but don't call it a comeback--it's a counterattack
I wasn't gone--just stalkin the sidelines, aging like a fine wine
takin my time and makin fresh rhymes

While you makin nothin but time to sit and ponder
how my absence keep makin your heart grow fonder
and this battle keep getting longer and longer
when your words keep gettin weaker, not stronger

You think I'm clockin T-dub and it's makin you sick
So you'll give me some of your rhymes--wow, neat trick
You think you Sting I see, loving somethin that I set free
Bitin my style, then offerin it back to me

Fool, you make me laugh til I pee, callin yourself a caucasoid Chuck D
You know you listenin to Kraftwerk and watchin the video for Mongoloid on tv
While sittin on your wind trainer pretendin you George Hincapie
When you barely good enough to be a domestique for this Queen B

Yo lines sure don't stress me, refresh or depress me

Takes balls for a sucka like you to address me

Whose rhymes got so random they mostly perplex me

Who got no more chance than T-Dub to undress me

Or any of my girlz on the Atomic posse

You got no more sense than ol' Headless's horsey

So get back to your stories of horror and fright

Just don't get so scared you can't turn off the light

What, did my lines leave ya stressed?
you takin 'bout as long as a girl take to get dressed
the lack of rebuttals is gettin Ice downright depressed
and there I was, back from the weekend all refreshed

My AK-style flow meltin my mouth it so hot
unlike the M & Ms meltin in yo hand while you gotcha eye on T-Dub’s white spot
amount you feign to disdain, and complain about otha rappas’ lyrics
they oughtta call you Sir Pout-a-Lot, wettin the stage witcha hysterics

Like Run DMC I’m tougher than leather
yo bedside table rhymes be light as a feather
whiskin me off to the Land of Nod
while I get inside ya head like poor Ichabod –

that punk got chased down by a pumpkin, it’s crazy
and yet your histrionics don’t faze me
I’ll do laps round yo a$$ like you Drivin Miss Daisy,
mimin Boys II Men while you frontin like you Jay-Z...

Blaze Battle XXXVIII

I rock this beat like I’m straight outta Flandria
while you about as Belgian as the Three Days of De Panne
just like yo dates, it’s Dutch -
leavin you daydreamin ‘bout c’mittin crimes on TW’s wet banana

Aw jeez – your wack fantasies make me ill at ease
the way you go slack at the knees for those tighty whiteys
I’ll even give ya some of my rhymes if you just stop it, PLEASE
but I’ve got ten more in store for every one of your “get out free”s

Face it, you can’t even Ace of Bass it – your new line, might as well erase it
$hit - even Adam Ant could crush you like an elephant
I would respond to your last rhyme, but it so small I don’t even know where it went
so save it for the campfire, and git back in yo pup tent
(and since you don’t even own it, don’t forget to pay yo rent)

I’m climbin Mont Ventoux while you drinkin Yoo-Hoo and playin Charlie Choo Choo
what, is that a tear I see? Let Ice give you a frozen boohoo, B
there’s no denying I’m the lyrical master in this melee
deliverin verbal blows like a caucasoid Chuck D...

Blaze Battle XXXVIII

Now don't get jealous of me talkin about Mr. B
Much as T-Dubs confounds me, it's your skinsuit that astounds me
into harassing and sassing yo fine a$$ almost daily
Well, that, plus your knowledge of ancient IT

Commodore 64? Shut the door and dim the lights!
I'm easy like Sunday morning for a guy who can play International Karate all night--yeah, right
You busy fiddlin witcha joystick while I'm busy takin a hike
out the door and into the night on my bike

You think you left me in the dust once? Trust this--I wasn't even trying to keep pace
RFTF is a ride, it ain't a race
We hit the streets for real, face-to-face?
Aww hell, you'd never show for it cuz you know I'd put you in your place

You say you like history, well that's what you'd be to me
when I spin back to the future to hook up with my Lady Atomic posse
Won't need no flux capacitor like Doc Brown and Marty
I'ma pedal thru the eigth dimension with Buckaroo and Perfect Tommy

Blaze Battle XXVIII

Casio, Tandy, Apple IIc -
that may be all it take to get you randy, but just 'tween you and me
I'd say TW's got you whistl'in tweedle-e-dee
much as you talk about that guy, I'ma haveta rename him Mr. B

If you really want samples that'll drop yours to the floor
let me dig around the closet and dust off my Commodore 64
same as I'll dust you on my bike, just like I did before
leave ya ped'lin nothin but yo a$$ just so you can buy painkillers at the drug store

Don't even talk about sharp - I'll cutcha like a mothaf*ckin Ginsu
so what if it only cost $2.95 - can't talk smack 'cause you know I'm gonna win, too
I'll scalp ya like Carradine from Kung Fu
launch a sneak black ninja attack while you trying to memorize "Best of Wu"

Blaze Battle XXVII

Ice, I see your rhythym is bout as sharp as your rhyme
so let me put in line breaks to help you visualize the time
the beats are unleashed while I spit tight lines
or are you so dull you need me to pantomime?

Now I thought you said I'd be quotin the founder of The Damned
But you the one droppin "Say what" at the start of your jam
You sure you readin me right? You know these ain't anagrams
maybe you need a little help from Sam-i-am

to keep up wit my numerous references
I'll give you time to think on 'em while I snack on elevenses
Unless maybe you finally comin to your senses
And recognizin Who's the Boss--your girl Britney Gears is

Blaze Battle XXVII

Say what? If you lookin to surpass my stella hella
best hook a motor up to yo Bianchi else it's ciao, bella
I don't know why you gotta harass me
even though you ain't close enough to see my ass, G

spoutin cryptic knowledge like you straight outta Middle Earth -
unicorns and chain mail, I'd say you on home turf
if you had hair on your toes, you'd almost be a hobbit
but instead you swingin crazed blades like a lycra-clad Lorena Bobbit

let's face it - my rhymes are the dopest
they straight make ya dirty, leavin you scrappin for Soap on a Ropest
and you might wanna work on yo meter, like Tony Danza's
so they ain't an inconsistent number of lines in yo stanzas

Blaze Battle 6.x

If you call that a fury
I think you in too much of a hurry
to pat yourself on the back
for the clever way you think you rap

Only way to say it--Ice, your rhymes is wack

And don't be bustin on my Tandy from Radio Shack
when you know my candy-sweet samples keep you comin back
like Barry Manilow to Mandy or Whitney Houston to crack

Either that or you want to come here to me
and play D&D wit B and sneak peaks at the notes I make in my Mead
about the kinda speed you gonna need
to beat me when we hit the streets on our velocipedes

Which is to say more speed than you got
Yeah, I know you think you hot
with your XS skinsuit and your high-tech cue sheet microdot
But you not--you lost the plot--
granny-gearin' it thru the land that time forgot

Blaze Battle 6.x: After a rejuvenative weekend Ice is back with a fury:

Like a dog after a bone, your tongue be wig-waggin
32cc tires movin bout 32 rpm - why they call you Big Draggin
gimme a forty of Colt and I'll raise you a flagon
'cept you more interested in potions you mix while playin Dungeons and Dragons

And when it comes to beat - sound like you been samplin on a TRS-80
I'd say yo street cred's got about as much currency as Haiti
I continue to hit 'em off the turf like Arnold Palmer
while you grubbin for Meals on Wheels in Balmer

Bustin plays on words with my girl Latifah?
you think that's original you MUST be smokin reefah
I'll axe ya like this once again - why you gotta be rap burglin?
so much detritus comin outcha mouth, it look like you turd-gurglin

I know you laughin while you crappin over my rappin ability
this here MC bust moves while he cappin from sea to shinin sea
so don't expect yo editin skills to provide you with answers
to why the heat from my mic leave you Iced like the Black Panthers