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

Yo, what's up? B Gears back on the tour--on the mic and on the bike
headed for the podium once I drop you wannbes who think you can do what you like
Tryin to rhyme, but I say is that all you got? Flows so stiff they gotta be written by a robot?
You see me? I'm lookin' at you, Icy Hot (or yeah, I'ma say it, Icy NOT)

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)
the whole peloton be hearin your cries when my Bianchi flies by--and hey, keep your eyes up offa my prize (whassup?)
yeah, you know you like it--I see somethin's 'bout to rise up, givin' me one more way of sizin' you up

You try to say I play dirty, but you know that's laughable
You confused 'cuz you can't tell if I'm flirty or just affable
Boy, the fastest thing about you is how your head be spinning
Realizin you can't walk away from this battle even tho ain't no way you winning

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…

Ice, I know you been eager to hear from me
but your chatterin' about the corsa just didn't inspire me
any more than your yammerin' about Yanni annoyed me
Could it be that I'm saying your re-cyclo rhyming is boring me? I think it just might be...

And hell yeah it's hot in here, thanks to me and my skillz
Playas in the peloton so scared they lawyerin up to write they wills
cuz they know I'm a cyclo killa (qu'est-ce que c'est?), be gettin up in they grills
before brushin em off like bugs as I tear up Cat 1 hills

Your slamz...your style...it's all just so weak, like you some fluttery little pixie
You belong in Williamsburg with the white belt-wearin' hipsters on fixies
Or rollin on your roc hopper down 84 all the way to Dixie
But don't think you'll be lappin me cuz I'm fast like Speed Racer, and you useless like Trixie

Why you warnin' me 'bout those pins in your hip--are you threatening to drop trou?

I hope it aint' cause you think I'll say "wow"

should I happen to catch sight of your unchammied d!&%

(Unless those pins somehow made that thing bionic...)

You wish I had Dunkin D treats in my pocket, but that's just my sweet, sweet a$$
You can get a good, long look at it when me & my Bianchi roll past
And speakin of posteriors did I rightly hear ya rhymes are related to your derriere?

Cuz I'm not so sure you wanna brag 'bout what's been comin' outta there

Namechecking Oude Kwaremont? I think someone swallowed a pretentious cyclist pill
Now I'm feeling ill--Good thing Mama D already hooked me up with some mofeen--1 pound, plus 1 refill
I'll need it all to stomach your boasting and crowing--it's like you think you Bettini

and not just some fool prancin round in your tiny white cotton semi-bikini

And please, Icy Hot, quit frontin' about your "Glock"

Admit you just Luke Warm and like listenin' to the New New Kids on the Block

While wearin a too-small, skin-tight spandex jumper

Gonna keep pretendin that you don't? Friend, you got bigger nuts than this truck's bumper:

When Queen B at the mic, the "B" stands for...

Check it: Ice say he put this battle on Pause
He think he running this show, like it's Red Light Green Light and he get to say stop or go
But B Gears pressin' Play now, Playa, and out come the claws
Scratchin' out my veloflow, I'm like mothaf*ckin Zorro, making my mark on your skinsuit--hope you can sew

Or maybe drop some dough on some new gear
Cuz the way the lycra be clinging and the seams be screaming, larger shorts are what you need
See, we ain't slow--we just fear gettin too near
you; the topographic map of your Tour de Pants is making the peloton's eyes bleed

Don't misunderstand me, I ain't mocking your size
I'm an XS, too, but not like you--I'm Xtra Sassy, Xtra Sweet, Xtra Smart, with Xtra Style
Anyone sayin they fine as me, they telling straight-up lies
And while we makin a list of extras, don't forget guts, grit, and guile

CHING, ZING, POP? Holy comic book sounds effects, Batman!
I guess I'll give you style points for tryin ta be onomotapoetic
But you won't be surprised that I'm not a fan
You're no Boy Wonder, and MC Bruce Wayne? Now that's just pathetic.

Chickity check the mailbox and what do I find? Once again Ice showin' he the master
of taking a bite outta B Gears' style--at that, they ain't no one faster
If imitation is flattery, then with that postcard he's kiss-assed me
but in this battle, endurance is key--and he won't outlast me

Unless, that is, the battle moves indoors. To a track? Hell no, to the mall!
See, the only thing Ice be clocking is the best deal on gear (all size extra-small)
If you spent as much time riding as you spend shopping, you'd twice traverse Celtic Gaul
Fool it don't matter how good you look on the bike if you ride slower than a toddler crawl

Mont Ventoux? Playa, please. Now I know you smokin something
Ain't no other way to explain your lack of shame at the way your skinsuit cling
I mean, you look fine--it ain't about that--but something else that's got me thinking...
Is that a chamois in your BVDs or are you just glad to hear me rapping?

(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.

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

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

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, 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...

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

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...

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

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")

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

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

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

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