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

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.

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

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...