J. Gruppo on the mic and he rocks it like Sir Vanderaerden
on the tops or in the drops he ain’t never gots to axe your pardon
for craftin lyrics so stone cold they make Eskimos say ‘brrr’
cold stone is the name of his game, killin it like Ekimov on the Kapelmuur

his shout-out to the Atomic crew was just in time for New Year’s
throwin out lines ‘bout baggin a few betties between beers
some a his rhymes nearly brought this poser-exposer to tears
reclaimin the Dropouts name and quellin my fixed-gear fears

on the road or on the track, he keepin it real and for that props back
to the man who flatters his rivals with flowers
after dropping they a$$es with CERA-free powers
he’ll beat you to Roubaix and the velodrome showers
(while suckas still fightin the pavé for hours)

a toast to our friend, he’s a cyberspace Flandrien
if his last name was Schleck his first would be Andy, and
his team car would be an Olds 98 and not some cheap Vanagon
he’ll lap your pursuit and then steal your nanny, man

he musta caught me in a good mood, you see?
‘cause there’s nothin worse than upsettin Ice y
in ’09 there’s no tellin what we’ll see
when the Battle unleashes on our man Johnny G…

Yo yo yo The Dropouts, AKA Johnny Gruppo on the mic

Someone's callin' me out for some casual rhymes
But this is the holidays, it's casual times
First day on the mic was a clash of the titans
Now let's bury the hatchet, put an end to the fightin'

MC Ice y Hot, MC Britney Gears
MC Mama Doc Derailleur, listen here
I contribute a scheme, rhyme scheme and some meter
Let's make a nice ride from this wreck of a beater

Seven verses to go, let's put some things straight
I had to go blasting, straight out the gate
But I can't catch a break, that's what I get for insultin'
Tell you where I'm at, this is my introducin'

a milli a milli one-thirty-five milli spacing
call me The Dropouts but which way I be facing
track end, vertical, horizontally opening
smack them, conversion, wannabe's posing

here's the first tip, I identify targets
aerospoke, (front only), rattlecan 'artist'
riser bar, cut down, in a drop stem contradiction
say "That's a tight whip", yeah drop them some fiction

or maybe it's a deep-v, for ugly-ass trackstars
I see flop-and-chops weekly, waste of a drop bar
NJS, Keirin, from glorious Nippon
if it's a rip-off, they're gonna get ripped on

trackstanding grandstanding, pre-tentious video
everything they can do I did a year ago
any chick they would do, I did two beers ago
make that a world premiere ago, two light-years ago

Think I'm getting off track? At least I've been on it
The velodrome is my home, put down the chronic
Make turns on the banks, make bank, they can bank on it
My bike or your girl, either way I'mma crank on it

All a them punks, lookin' at trackasaurus
reckon my last trip is to visit the florist
crush competition, like a steroid cyclocrosser
hand 'em the flowers, say 'sorry bout your loss, sir'

This goes out to "The Dropouts"...

Aww look at shorty, tryin to get frisky
droppin names like Levi and Zabriskie
The Dropouts? That about sums it up -
droppin names and goin down in flames
frontin like they got a cameo in Budden’s Pump It Up

Go get back on ya track bike, please
I’ma teach ya how to rhyme while you dreamin ‘bout DZ
the only thing “bellow” ‘bout ya rap is the bovine nature of its flow
so step aside and suck up ya pride, ‘cause my Vitti CGs
is gonna paint you red, black and yellow

K is for Kemmel where I know I’m gonna drop ya
rap is the game where you know I’m bound to scotch ya
krap is what’s comin outcha mouth - what is this, Gotcha?
next time stay at home ‘cause MC Ice just clocked ya

The Belgianest of Birthdays Pt. II

That's right, I still spittin
for Mama Doc Ice on a mission
and no I'm not quittin
'cause you know I ain't be $hittin

If I had needles I'd be knittin
a pair a Flanders Lion mittens
Atomic Grrrls is Vanderkittens
an' that's all that I got writtens...

The Belgianest of Birthdays

Mama Doc in the house, an' now we gonna celebrate her
when it comes to rappin she's the tops, that's why I'm gonna elevate her
Ice got the chops to drop these props, can't pass him with an elevator

Doc ain't wearin a birthday suit 'cause that would mean she nekkid
but give her a skinsuit and a mic and you got yo'self a rekkid...

2 skinsuits and a microphone, weakest shit I've ever known:

'Bout as risky as drafting Zabriskie
'Bout as crappy as the fork under Hincapie
No rhymer, wisenheimer like Leipheimer
Get you like L. Beppu and wreck ya like Bileka
But it ain't over, dick, make like Brajkovič
(say what)
Contador, Cruz, Cummings
These three C's breeze like C-C-Cool Runnings
LOOK OUT, it's Rubiera derrière ya
That means behind ya, John Devine ya
Break 'em off like Ek-i-mov
Say eke-a-move, Antonio Cruz, Vladmir Gruse
-Ev, who's left, somebody yellow next, wek, I mean weak
Yo rap's a pip squeak, mine's a bellow ---

*speakers blow, I pop a wheelie and ride out of here*

This goes out to all you brake-hatas:

YES it’s a Friday, and I’m gonna make it my day
MC Ice is back, he gonna burn you like a fried egg
poach you on the road like a commuter in a kermesse
on the bike, mic or computer my palmarès are the best

What? You think you Sean Kelly?
You must be trippin, cuz – you couldn’t even be a stagiare for Jelly Belly
Wearin earrings like Ricco? Hell, you might as well be Nelly
(‘cept that fool would never be caught watchin Versus on the telly)

One thing is clear, like crystal -
and that’s the fact that I rhyme hotta than a $2 pistol
Try to bring it and I’ll drop you like Rittsel
leave you gaspin for air as you caught out in the mistral…

Apparently photos of P-fars are more important than cycling solidarity
Dissin B. Gears? Not only does that shout hilarity, but it’s a mothaf*ckin rarity
that gril be fresher than Soap on a Rope –
straight-up Amen, and you can take that straight to the Pope

if Snob wasn’t bogged down in panty-bedecked fixies
he’d revel in the fact that he has fans in these cyclo-emcees
instead his blogspot traffic is gettin downright pornographic
if he continue to front Queen B, I’ma haveta hit his Ironic Orange Julius Bike with BlackIt

like this and like that and like this and like that
like an Uzi my Dura-Ace be goin rat a tat tat
as I climb through the gears up to fifty fo’-ten
to roll past all you suckaz all over again…

BS in the house and he rhymes like an animal
slayin fixies from Coney to DUMBO, he a regular a rap-manimal
Give him a Peugeot and he’ll TT it to Long Island
sell that sucka for ca$h, head home and buy a real brand

Almost daily he dissin single sprockets to his readers
I ain’t got a problem with those derailleur-free fools -- so long as they ain’t breeders
‘cause the last thing this world needs is a race of anemic single speeders
cloggin the tarmac with their Masi repros and Puch beaters

Brakes? Who needs ‘em? Those are for the technophile
Just slip on a pair of Campers and you can stop no problem, Flintstone style
It won’t take a nation of millions to hold back the flannel-clad peloton --
just free Conor Oberst tickets, a can of PBR, and some vintage Bennetton…