Songtexte B. O. B. (OS remix) - OutKast

1, 2
1, 2, 3, yeah

Inslumnational underground, thunder pounds
When I stomp the ground
Like a million elephants or Silver Back
Orangutans, you can't stop the train

Who wants some? Don't come unprepared
I'll be there but when I leave there
Better be a household name
The 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
Hittin' somersaults without the net
But this'll be the year that we won't forget

1999 Anno Domini
Anythin' goes, be what you wanna be
Long as you know consequences
Are given for living

The fence is too high to jump in jail
Too low to dig, I might just touch Hell
Get a life now, they on sale
Then I might cast you a spell, look at what came in the mail

A scale an' some arm an' hammer
Soul gold grill, an' a baby, mamma
Black Cadillac an' a pack of Pampers
Stack of questions with no answers

Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS
Make a nigga want to stay on tour for days
Get back home, thangs are wrong
Well not really, it was bad all along

Before your 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 mo', oww

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit somethin'
Bombs over Baghdad

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit somethin'
Bombs over Baghdad

Uno, dos, tres, it's on
Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?
Like that there boy an' we still stay street
Big things happen every time we meet

Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin' to geek
Outkast bumpin' up an' down the street
Slant back Cadillac, about five niggaz deep
Seventy-five MC's free stylin' to the beat

'Cause we get crunk, stay drunk at the club
Should've bought an ounce, but you copped a dub
Should've held back, but you threw the punch
Supposed 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, 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 coals

Record number four but we on the road
Hold up, slow up, stop, control
Like Janet, Planet Stankonia's on ya
Movin' like Floyd, comin' straight to Florida

Lock all your windows then block the corridors
Pullin' off my belt 'cause a whippings in order
I'd like a three-piece fish before I cut your daughter
Yo quiero taco bell, then I hit the border

Piti pat rappers tryin' to get the five
I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive
When you come to a town, boy, you better not hide
'Cause the dungeon family gon' ride, ha

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit somethin'
Bombs over Baghdad

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit somethin'
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bob your head, rag top
Bob your head, rag top
Bob your head, rag top

Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
...