Pins is my hips is indeed what makes me bionic
rollin cross the corsa like I’m simply supersonic
from Pittsburgh to the Koppenburg, there’s no denyin my flyin
if I drop trou it’s cause I’m too fast for my brock – leavin you small frites fryin

but if I lived on 84, I’d have truts right outside my door
while all you got is Truck Nuts tryin to even the score
and you right about my jumper, brought to mind as you stared at that bumper
it may be extra small but it don’t keep my cojones from bouncin cross the floor like Thumper

so with bacon in my pocket I take to the hills
powerin my caffetierre with my pedals while you pop pills
to try to combat the ills that this Velo MC freely spills
too hot in here? Maybe you just got the chills

but that’s okay, ‘cause every day’s a new one
maybe tomorrow I’ll let you win – just for fun
giftin you the stage like Armstrong did to Pantani
but then again – maybe I’ll just drop beats while you continue to sound like Yanni…