Shoutout for my man Big G!

Its true that da Schlex keep it real in the yellow
But Andy too young, and Frank one skinny-assed fellow
I think that the yellow lookin better on Cadel
That Aussie's legs are hotter than all the fires of hell
So not to cut him down like some mad Lorena Bobbit
But I'm pretty sure Cadel is at least half hobbit!
Punk-ass Ricco blows the whole peloton
He should have the strength for it, all the EPO he's on
I gotta give props to cute Christian VDV
He can get a girl going when he rock the HC
But even though Bobke say that Christian's a contender
There's only one in the pack sending me on a bender
After years watching Lance sailing by in a blur
My man Hincapie deserves his own soigneur
After seeing him in the lead up that crazy alpine peak
Big George can count on me to be his loyal domestique
Poor Ice will never have the skillz to rival Hincapie -
George can always count on me for an ending that's happy!
But Ice best go shopping for a watch on E-Bay
Cuz the podium girls won't give him the time of day...

(It should be there by now...)

MC Ice say he old skool, that he need to read hard copy
But I ain't afraid to meet him where he be, on his home territory
I'll put pen to paper for Team USPS delivery
Of bluegrass beatbox tracks to his Lonesome Valley

Now B Gears may not be as lean as your man Busy Bee
But the tight curves on this Queen are the only advantages I need
My legs are longer than Longo's, my booty straight outta the Pyrenees
Only serious competitors need apply, cuz I ain't talkin cat 2s and 3s

Lycra, cotton, wool...damn, what is this, Project Runway?
Sheeit, playa, wearing nothing but a smile I'll race you any day
and still win points for better style than you and your legs of clay
No doubt about it--you readin' tomorrow's news today.

Tight and white is the new style, so don’t bust it
lycra costs bills but cotton kills, and wool? My privates don’t trust it
you can go old skool like Anquetil if you want, with glass bidons and a bike that’s rusted
or enlist the help of your friend in Fruit of the Loom – hell, you might even get E-Z Lusted

besides, you need every advantage you can get in this race – and that don’t require a cipher
my Lemond mowin down MCs from Sweet Tee to Queen Bee, so many Ice be needin a windshield wiper
your boy Ricardo Ricco, they used to call that fool The Viper
but just like you he’ll be leavin this event embarrassed - and in a diaper

so next time you dare to tell me where my things belong
don’t forget you already Rode for the Feast with a man in a cheap cotton thong
the way he was doin laps round that gym, he musta had L’Equipe stuffed up in there too
and there’ll be more when they print today’s news tomorrow as I’m still doin laps 'round you…

Fool, you the comic--sans jokes--in this here show
U think a name is all u need to take the mic and rock the show
by blowin rhymes that bring the heat like the winds of El Nino
but your name prove nothin but that you frontin like you can flow

So check the Cheltenham decks on that paper stuffed under your jersey
and you'll see all the news that's fit to print about your girl Queen B
about how I emerged from this rap battle wrapped up in a victory
It say my lyrics is so fresh they making storytelling history

And what a surprise that you have TDub's digits
That fool tried to slip 'em to me in a note but I pitched it
Guess you like the way he look when he fidget
on his saddle in his tight bright white BVD kit

PS, barin your derriere? Ice, are you outta your mind?
We all be goin à bloc to keep from spending time behind your unzipped behind
crossin the finish line in record time lest we go blind
So keep it all inside where it belongs, please, be kind

Sheeit, hata - I been freestylin as long as the Dice Man been defilin
suckas like you for all they white lyin and prissy nail filin
you and your 1-900-LUV-TDUB dialin - try as you might to diss the phatness of my bacon fryin,
you about as hardcore as the Hamptons on Long Island

darin to wear my undersized superman booty suit
barin my derriere I defy B. Gears’ attempts to take the race loot
while she ponder Mr. Huxtable’s pudding
and I win the stage as her results continue to lose footing

the only thing criminal ‘bout my rappin is my intent
to win in this battle while B downloadin 50 Cent
you can have me arrested for that if you want
or come up with somethin worthy of more than Comic Sans font

Phew, I'm glad you got to spit that
I know you been chewing on it awhile--
a ruminant ruminating all week long--
cuz ain't no way you can fly freestyle

My chest does alright by me as it is, thanks--don't take no outta place hair
to make a fine flyer hang back with the gruppetto and stare
while he dream about a different kinda mountain stage
where victory no doubt would be worth the battle he'd wage

Back to the subject of what is or isn't digestible
let me teach you a lesson, like that dad on the Huxtables
Please, take a seat, I wouldn't want you to lose your footing
When I explain that at least my 'nilla's pure, while you as real as his instant pudding

Um, and no your groove aint smoove, Ice--it's greasy
like that fake bacon fat you claimin to be (metaphorically)
Ice say he Boss Hossin', but i think he Boss Hoggin', y'all
toutin' his rhymes as good when they flat out criminal

My lyrics is smoove like Crisco,
make the ladies move more than disco
I know my microphone freestylin is why I’m hated so
yo rhymes? Yes you be tryin, but they about as dated as Harrison Ford in Kid Frisco

Make ya crash like Alejandro Valverde,
Make ya wish your chest had hair, hey
‘cause I’m the rappa with the funk and the mean slam dunk
while yo lines clunk along like Rosie O’ D’s badunkadunk

slowin you down like Dunkin Donuts – or should I call ‘em ho-nuts
MCs swervin left and right to avoid all a yo ruts
so the next time you try to attack this licensed ill spilla
check the gas in your tank ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’s pure ‘nilla…

Yeah, I'll stop drop and roll cause you know I'm on fire
"Sucka emcees will call me..." nah, it ain't that dire
that I need help from Run and Darryl to fuel this pyre
B can ride and rap all night--never tire

You a little too proud of rhyming the same words again and again
I keep wonderin, am I reading forward or back where I already been?
You think you genius cuz you found a rhyme for "Dutch"
But there must 50 ways to rhyme that joint (Simon sez "...don't need to discuss much...")

The real joke is Ice sayin he make the ladies holla "Poe Hee" with glee
I refer you back to my discovery that Ice be kinda like R. Kelly
Truth must be he tellin the ladies to "Pee, Ho!"
makin them run, screamin "Hell no, we gotta go!"

Ice is like a skeleton, always crawlin out ya closet
steppin to the mic as you flee like white flight while I boss hoss it
you whinin like Ricardo Ricco in the 2008 Giro -
hatin on the leader in this rap spectacle when I should be your hero

again, your lack of attention to nuance confounds me –
if you re-read my last rhyme you’ll see that the first first rhymed with wurst,
which then rhymed with the second first, creatin a wurst sandwich – a TW manwich -
which you should know since it’s a daily staple in the diet that surrounds Queen B

so before you waste any more breath on my output
I’m back in black, skin tight in my XS goth time trial outfit
ready to rumble on two wheels - or two turntables, that’s why they call me MC
so stop, drop and roll over - you might as well go clean my bike stables, or audition for PCD

Ice, your lack of output disappoints me
I wouldn't have expected you to choke up so easily
Maybe your time away helped you accept your destiny
to never be more than a Connecticut Yankee in the court of the Queen B...