I’m fickled, I’m pickled, I’m tickled.
I’ve got to say that I’m fickled, I’m pickled, I’m tickled.
I want to ride like Lance Armstrong
But keep my collarbone.
I want to win the Tour de France
Then party on in Rome.

You say Matt, I say Lance
You say deer, some fat chance.
You say Spain, I say Rome,
You say beer, I say foam.
But I don’t drink that Coors.
You say Katie, I say Sheryl,
NBC, Today Show peril.
You say Roids, I say drugs,
I don’t believe in athlete thugs.
Tour de farce, up the arse,
I’ve got to admit that

I’m mangled, I’m tangled, I’m dangled.
I’ve got to say that I’m mangled, I’m tangled, I’m dangled.
I want to ride like Matt Lauer,
And shoulder all the blame.
I like his partner Katie-do,
She’s quite the classy dame.
Lance and Matt are coming your way,
Bale off of the roads and onto clay!
Short-haired dudes are crashing today,
So look out for those bikers, no show.
On your Matts, get set, NO!
Bicycle ace Bicycle ace Bicycle ace
I’m jumpin’, I’m pumpin’, I’m dumpin’,
I want to ride like Lance and Matt.
I’m laughing, I’m gaffing, I’m rafting.
Bicycle ace.