Friday, February 13, 2009

Ice be kickin it oude genever
So hot in here feel like I got a fever
gittin buck wild make otha rappas look like Leave It To Beavers
while my Lemond roll past they hoopty-ass beaters

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

What is this wackness, fake blackness
I got no choice I’ma have to attack this
caught out before I even got my skinsuit on
and still I’ll relegate you to the arrière of the peloton

Yo line ‘bout lickin suckers?
you musta been listenin to the Lollipop song (again)
all I got to say is that is straight-up wrong -
and your idea of “sucker” is prob’ly T-dub in a thong, friend

Yo rhymes is fallin apart, they all staccato
and still you come out with all that bravado
thinkin you can bring it like Pippo Pozzato
that about as weak as pronouncin tomato “tomahhto”

Ice sick as a dog and still he rock it stone cold
leavin dust in my wake while I shake the fate hatas
(Hell, that never gets OLD - yeah I put that in bold)
time to
wind down, and dine downtown
sucka punchin smiley faces ‘til they livin in Frowntown

You want victory but you can’t buy that on layaway
you claim trickery while I drop you on the straightaway
you on a road bike, I on a stolen Huffy, hey!

(and where do you get off draggin G. Peck into the fray?)

Thursday, February 5, 2009

(no subject)

Ice, I gave it to you rough today cuz i know that's how you like it
but that don't mean I'm dissin your props today for the earlier display of my wit
Your respect is sweet, your words smoother than sugar
This honey be smilin at how HoneyCutz do right by her

Yeah, I'm sayin "Est! Est!! Est!!!" but ain't about the Falesco at Cinghiale
It's the props I'm shoutin back to the only cyclo-emcee worthy
of raisin' his glass with me or shakin' his a$$ wit me--now I'm straight up keepin it real
When he bring it, I hafta work hard to step to it (but ain't no mistakin' that I will)

(no subject)

Before you change my name, Ice, tell me on what facts was I mistaken?
How bout you chill wit Raj while I Rerun through the list of false claims you say I'm makin:
Robotic rhymes--check; exaggerating your skillz--check; enjoyin the view from behind--check; head spinnin faster than your cranks--check
All doubt is unreasonable, your honor, I rest my case. Who needs Gregory Peck?

Being faster to battle don't guarantee a win in the war
I'll take my time craftin my rhymes--don't need to hurry cuz I ain't an attention whore
I'm Aesop's tortoise and you his hare--while you be nappin I'll be lappin you and the crowds all be stoppin to stare
but not cuz of your speed, bub; it's just like with T-dub--they can't figure out why your ass is bare

Especially when mine is looking fine in 4-way stretch, 6 flat-stitch panels--do the math, punk
24 ways the junk in my trunk is gonna move when I lay down the funk--ain't no bunk--wog, your ship is sunk and my win in this race is a slam-dunk
Cuz when I need to be fast I can attack like The Cricket, and when I step to the mic the crowd starts to kick it
Yeah bring me any sucker--they know I'ma lick it, and if you got some other theory, well, you know where you can stick it

Re: So listen up, it's time for you to wise up, build your thighs up
or else drop the guise--won't be no surpise to find that all your words is lies (yup)

Props to the rappa who wrote this line
cuttin down all the slackas in a manner so fine
in seconds flat – leavin plenty of time to dine
(and of course wind down with some wine downtown)

She be seated at the chef’s table at Cinghiale
while that one-off Johnny Gruppo tryin to learn the timbale

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

I hear somethin cryin but it ain’t no bass thumpin
your Bianchi’s gonna need RockShox when my ryhmes start they bumpin
Who let the dogs out? Naw, it ain’t no bow-wowin
if I’m not mistaken it sounds like a li’l cat meowin

Step into the Blaze you get beat to the flo
the only way you win's by comin back fo mo
so go ahead wit’ yo stale-ass Cold Medina
Ice y gonna cure it with his Latino medicina

Atomic chix may be runnin crazy marathons,
preachin the 26-2 like it’s straight outta Farrakhan
but I’m faster on the cobbles than they is on the Autobahn
and like my man T-dub I be ridin without my pants on

You wanna talk split times, how ‘bout a double negative?
meanin my second two checks is even faster than the first is
don’t worry, I seen you flyin by – backwards, it seems
disappearin like Houdini you didn’t even catch my slipstream

Crushin Roubaix, drinkin Vouvray and collectin my pay
while lesser riders drownin they sorrows in a bowl o’ Frito-Lay
I wear a tophat on the mothaf*ckin podium
I got mad electrolytes, a load a sodium
best check ya facts 'cause I'm callin you Erroneum

Like silk or like butta, Cutz is smoova than the othas
if you step up to his game he’ll crack you like peanuttas
flap ya lips and you’ll step right into a ruckus
you think you got tight skills? Honey’s out, I say f*ck this.