B.o.b. (bombs Over Baghdad) Lyrics - Stankonia - Outkast

[Dre] 

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, to give and 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 he 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! 

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[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 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 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 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 the road 

Hold up, slow up, stop, control 

Like Janet, Planets, Stankonia is on ya 

A 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 boi you better not hide 

'Cause the Dungeon Family gon' ride, hah! 

Photos 

[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] 

Power music. Electric revival.