Outkast - B.O.B. (Bombs Over Baghdad)

(Dre) 1, 2.. 1, 2, 3; yeah! Inter-national, underground Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!) Like a million elephants with silverback orangutans You can't stop a train Who want some? Don't come un-pre-pared 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, soakin wet In a silk suit, tryin' not to sweat Hits somersaults without the net But this'll be the year that we won't forget One-Nine-Nine-Nine, and brutha anything goes, be whatchu wanna be Long as you know consequences, to give and for livin' defenses Too hot, I'm jumpin' jail Too low to dig, I might just touch hell HOT! Get a life, now they gon' sell Then I might catch you a spell, look at what came in the mail A scale and some Arm and Hammer, so grow grid and some baby mñma 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 We're not really able to spend all alone before he left, (?), to a ball of power Thousands of thousands miles per hour Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe, believe there's always more, ahhhhh! (Chorus: 2X) (Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang (Choir) Bombs over Baghdad! (Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something (Choir) Bombs over Baghdad! (Dre) Yeah! Uhh-huh (Big Boi) Uno, dos, tres, it's on Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone? Like that there boi and will still stay street Big things happen every time we meet Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin to geek Outkast bumpin' up and down the street Slam back, Cadillac, 'bout five nigga deep Seventy-five emcee's freestylin' to the beat Cause we get krunk, stay drunk, at the club Should have bought an ounce, but you caught the 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 year, Jordan Never turn my back on my kids for them Should have hit it (hit it) quit it (quit it) rag (rag) top (top) Before you read up, get a laptop Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals Make a fair diamond out of dusty coals Record number four, but we on a roll Hold up, slow up, stop, control Like Janet, planets, Stankonia is only A movin' like floor commin' straight to Florida Lock all your windows then block the quarters Pullin' off on bell 'cause a whippins in order Like a three piece fist, 'fore I cut your daughter Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border Penny pap rappers tryin' to get the five I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive When you come to ATL boi you better not hide cause the Dungeon Family gon' ride, hah! (Chorus: 2X) (Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang (Choir) Bombs over Baghdad! (Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something (Choir) Bombs over Baghdad! (Dre) Yeah! Uhh-huh (Choir) Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah Bombs over Baghdad! Yeah (Dre) B-I-G, B-O-I An-An-Andre To the T-O-P (Dre and Big Boi: 15X) Bob your head. Rag top. (1, 2.. 1, 2, 3, 4) (Gimme some) (Choir: 23X) Bible music. Electric revival.