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B.O.B
by
Outkast
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1, 2... 1, 2, 3; yeah! In-slum-national, underground Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!) Like a million elephants and silverback orangutans You can't stop a train Who want some? Don't come un-prepared I'll be there, but when I leave there Better be a household name Weather man tellin' us it ain't gon' rain So now we sittin' in a drop-top, soaking wet In a silk suit, tryin' not to sweat Hit somersaults without the net But this'll be the year that we won't forget One-Nine-Nine-Nine, Anno Domini, anything goes, be whatchu wanna be Long as you know consequences are given for livin' The fence is too high to jump in jail Too low to dig, I might just touch hell HOT! Get a life, now they on sale Then I might cast you a spell, look at what came in the mail A scale and some Arm and Hammer, soul gold grill and some baby mama Black Cadillac and a pack of Pampers Stack of question with no answers Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS Make a nigga wanna stay on tour for days Get back home, things are wrong Well, not really, it was bad all along Before you left adds up to a ball of power Thoughts at a thousand miles per hour Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe, Believe there's always more, ahhhhh! Don't pull that thang out, unless you plan to bang Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Uhh-huh Uno, dos, tres, it's on Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone? Like that there boy and we still stay street Big things happen every time we meet Like a track team, crack fiend, dying to geek Outkast bumpin' up and down the street Slant back Cadillac, 'bout five nigga deep Seventy-five MC's freestylin' to the beat 'Cause we get crunk, stay crunk, at the club Should have bought an ounce, but you copped a dub Should have held back, but you throwed the punch 'Spose to meet your girl but you packed a lunch No D to the U to the G for you Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo Got a little baby girl four years, Jordan Never turned my back on my kids, there for them Should have hit it, quit it, rag top Before you re-up, get a laptop Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals Make a fat diamond out of dusty coals Record number four, but we on a roll Hold up, slow up, stop, control Like Janet, Planet Stankonia is on ya Movin' like Floyd comin' straight to Florida Lock all your windows then block the corridors Pullin' off my belt 'cause a whipping's in order I like a three piece fish before I cut your daughter Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border Pity PAT rappers tryin' to get the five I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive When you come to ATL, boy, you better not hide 'Cause the Dungeon Family gon' ride, hah! Don't pull that thang out, unless you plan to bang Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Uhh-huh Don't pull that thang out, unless you plan to bang Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah! Uhh-huh Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah B-I-G, B-O-I An-An-Andre To the T-O-P Bob your head. Rag top. (1, 2.. 1, 2, 3, 4) (Gimme some) Power music. Electric revival.
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