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B.O.B. (Bombs Over Baghdad)

by OutKaston Stankonia (Deluxe Version)

[Intro: André 3000]

One, two

One, two, three, yeah!

[Verse 1: André 3000]

Inslumnational, underground

Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!)

Like a million elephants or silverback orangutans

You can't stop the train

Who want some? Don't come unprepared

I'll be there, but when I leave there

Better be a household name

Weatherman 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

Hit somersaults without the net

But this'll be the year that we won't forget

The 1-9-9-9 Anno Domini, anything goes

Be what you wanna be as 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 & Hammer

Soul-gold grill and a baby mama

Black Cadillac and a pack of Pampers

Stack of questions 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 yo' brain breathe

Believe there's always mo', ow!

[Chorus: André 3000 & Morris Brown College Gospel Choir]

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Yeah, ha, ha, yeah)

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Yeah, oh-ah)

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Ha, ha, ha, yeah)

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah!

[Verse 2: Big Boi]

Uno, dos, tres, it's on

Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?

Like that there, boy, 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

Slant back Cadillac, 'bout five niggas deep

75 MC's freestylin' to the beat

'Cause we get crunk, stay drunk, at the club

Shoulda bought an ounce, but you copped a dub

Shoulda held back, but you throwed a punch

'Posed 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 turned my back on my kids, for them

Should've 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 coal

Record number four, but we on a roll

Hold up, slow up, stop, "Control"

Like Janet, Planet, Stankonia's on ya

Moving like Floyd, comin' straight to Florida

Lock all your windows, then block the corridors

Pullin' off my belt 'cause a whipping's in order

Like a three-piece fish 'fore I cut your daughter

Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border

Pitty-pat rappers tryna get to 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, ha-ha!

[Chorus: André 3000 & Morris Brown College Gospel Choir]

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Ah, yeah)

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Ah, yeah)

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah! (Y'all over, yeah)

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah!

[Break: Morris Brown College Gospel Choir]

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah!

[Bridge: André 3000, Big Boi]

André

B-I-G

B-O-I

Bob, bob, bob, bob

OutKast

South of Georgia

[Outro: André 3000 & Morris Brown College Gospel Choir]

Bob your head, rag-top

Bob your head, rag-top (One, two, one, two, three, let's go!)

Power music, electric revival