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…

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:

The only pause in this battle is the menopausal bitchin
afflictin the so-called competition ‘til it’s a battle of attrition
that has me yawnin so hard it’s startin to hurt my jaws
B crabbin ‘bout claws when the only trick in her pockets is Dunkin D bear paws

applause is what we need for this cyclo emcee
insteada scrutinizin the size of Ice y’s chammy
my rhymes is as aerodynamic as my skinsuit
slicin the air, molded to my derriere – Gears, you may as well drop that mic and learn the pan flute

guts, grit, and guile – sounds like a checklist for a wannabe Flanderphile
try to feed it to the Belgians and they’ll $hit on that pile, Oude Kwaremont style
and yet your knowledge of comic book trivia leaves me agape -
MC Bruce Wayne reminds me of that kook MF Doom wearin a cape

I’m glad the Battle’s back in action –
even though my verbal punches might leave you in traction
beggin for some morphine from Mama Doc
while Ice poppin two-wheelin fools wit his Glock

and before you even think of givin me lip – just remember:
“Girl, I got pins in my hip…”

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.

Bustin on my bling while she fightin the static cling of her bike still stuck to the starting line, while Ice wine and dine – cha-CHING
thinkin her half-baked lines will buy some time, castin weak volleys from the sidelines while Ice take this battle straight to the front lines – ZING

Pretendin she don’t shop, innocent like bebop, as if accoutrements like her helmet cam and Bianchi cap just showed up on her porch – where’s the Easter Bunny, HOP
continuously bustin on Ice’s skinsuit size, while sleek like a gazelle he slide into that extra-small combined bottom and top, make the seams go POP

Pedal-powered espresso maker in one pocket, bacon in the otha –
how the f%^* else the peloton eat breakfast without moochin off this brotha?
B. Gears like to point out the flaws in Ice y’s style, neglectin all the while
her time in front of the mirror sayin her own name like she Destiny’s Child

If it ain’t on my slipstream dust that you choke,
it’ll be on your own sad lyrics that try to one-up this bloke
don’t matter whether we go spoke to spoke or joke to joke -
my spittin leave you stone cold broke, like you nothin but an unemployed Tone Loc...

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?

Looks like ink is the new pixel...

Oh, you KNOW Ice old skool-
He going back pre-linotype
Ink & quill's the new way to get ill
while suckas check they SMS I say don't believe the hype














B givin herself props like she descended from the heavens
when reality show that she'll always be 2nd, like Cadel Evans
Just like Sastre rocked the TT
I'm clockin new records in this ongoing BB

And speaking of categories, I b'leive they'll need a 6 for you
You at home playin Scattergories while I smokin Mont Ventoux
But I'll give you an 'A' for effort
so tres props pour vous...